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HRION'CRHWFbRD 


THE*  RALSTON  S 


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•••<•  •-••- 


THE    RALSTONS 


THE    EALSTONS 


BY 


F.   MARION   CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR  OP  "A  ROMAN  SINGER,"  "PIETRO  GHISLBKI,' 
"  KATHAKINK  LAUUKKLIALE,"  BTC. 


TWO   VOLUMES  IN  ONE 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1902 

AU  rights  reserved 


-5 

cm 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  January,  1894.  Printed  December, 
1894.  Reprinted  January,  February  twice,  1895.  Two  volumes 
printed  in  one,  June,  1899  ;  July,  1902. 


Twenty-second  Thousand 


J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


\ 


THE  RALSTONS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

ALEXANDER  LAUDERDALE  JUNIOR  was  very 
much  exercised  in  spirit  concerning  the  welfare 
of  his  two  daughters,  of  whom  the  elder  was 
Charlotte  and  the  younger  was  Katharine.  Char 
lotte  had  been  married,  nearly  two  years  before  the 
opening  of  this  tale,  to  Benjamin  Slayback,  the 
well-known  member  of  Congress  from  Nevada,  and 
lived  in  Washington.  Katharine  was  still  at  home, 
living  with  her  father  and  mother  and  grandfather, 
in  the  old  house  in  Clinton  Place,  in  the  city  of 
New  York. 

Mr.  Lauderdale,  the  son  of  the  still  living  phi 
lanthropist,  and  the  nephew  of  the  latter's  younger 
brother,  the  great  millionaire,  Robert  Lauderdale, 
sat  in  his  carefully  swept,  garnished  and  polished 
office  on  a  Saturday  morning  early  in  April.  In 
outward  appearance,  as  well  as  in  inward  sym 
pathy,  he  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  sur 
roundings.  He  resembled  a  magnificent  piece  of 

VOL.    I. 1  1 

155241 


Z  THE  RALSTONS. 

mechanism  exhibited  in  a  splendid  show-case  —  a 
spare  man,  extremely  well  proportioned,  with  a 
severe  cast  of  face,  hard  grey  eyes,  and  a  look 
all  over  him  which  recalled  a  well-kept  locomotive. 
He  sat  facing  the  bright  light  which  fell  through 
the  clear  plate  glass.  One  of  his  hands,  cool, 
smooth,  lean,  lay  perfectly  still,  spread  out  upon 
the  broad  sheet  of  a  type-written  letter  on  the 
table ;  the  other,  equally  motionless,  hung  idly 
over  his  knee.  They  were  grasping  hands,  with 
long,  curved  nails,  naturally  highly  polished.  It 
was  not  probable  that  the  great  Trust  Company, 
in  which  Alexander  Junior  held  such  an  important 
position,  should  ever  lose  the  fraction  of  a  frac 
tional  interest  through  any  oversight  of  his. 

So  far  as  his  own  fortune  was  concerned,  he 
often  said  that  he  was  poor.  He  lived  in  an  old 
house  which  had  been  his  grandfather's  and 
father's  in  turn,  but  which,  although  his  father 
was  alive  and  continued  to  live  in  it,  had  be 
come  his  own  property  some  years  previous  to 
the  beginning  of  this  story.  For  Alexander 
Lauderdale  Senior  was  a  philanthropist ;  and 
although  his  brother,  the  rich  Robert,  gave  lib 
erally  toward  the  support  of  the  institutions  in 
which  he  was  interested,  Alexander  had  little  by 
little  turned  everything  he  possessed  into  money, 
applying  it  chiefly  to  the  education  of  idiots.  The 
consequence  was  that  he  depended,  almost  uncon- 


THE  R ALSTONS.  3 

sciously,  upon  his  only  son  for  the  actual  necessi 
ties  of  life.  The  old  house  was  situated  on  the 
north  side  of  Clinton  Place,  which  had  never  been 
a  fashionable  street,  though  it  lay  in  what  had 
once  been  a  most  fashionable  neighbourhood.  No 
one  need  be  surprised  if  the  near  relatives  of  such 
a  very  rich  man  as  Kobert  Lauderdale  lived  very 
quietly,  so  far  as  expenditure  was  concerned.  He 
was  a  very  generous  man,  and  would  have  done 
much  more  for  his  nephew  and  the  latter's  family 
if  he  had  believed  that  they  wished  or  expected  it. 
But  in  his  sensible  view,  they  had  all  they  needed, 
—  a  good  house,  a  sufficient  amount  of  luxury,  and 
a  very  prominent  position  in  society.  He  knew, 
moreover,  that,  however  much  he  might  give,  the 
money  would  either  find  its  way  into  the  vast 
charities  in  which  his  brother  was  interested,  or 
would  disappear,  as  other  sums  and  bits  of  prop 
erty  had  disappeared  before  now,  to  some  place  — 
presumably  one  of  safety  —  of  which  his  nephew 
never  spoke.  For  he  suspercted  that  Alexander 
Junior  was  not  nearly  so  poor  as  he  represented 
himself  to  be,  and  he  was  not  exactly  pleased  with 
the  fact  that  he  himself  was  the  only  person  before 
whom  Alexander  Junior  bowed  down  and  offered 
incense. 

For  this  younger  Lauderdale  was  a  very  rigid 
man  in  almost  all  respects:  in  his  religion,  which 
took  the  Presbyterian  form,  and  took  it  in  earnest; 


4  THE  RALSTONS. 

in  his  uprightness,  which  was  cruelly  sincere ;  and 
in  his  outward  manner,  which  was  in  the  highest 
degree  conventionally  correct. 

It  was  this  extreme  correctness  which  lay  at  the 
root  of  his  present  troubles,  since,  in  his  opinion, 
both  his  daughters  had  departed  from  it  in  oppo 
site  directions  and  in  an  almost  equal  degree.  He 
did  not  recognize  himself  in  either  of  them,  and,  as 
he  believed  his  own  character  to  be  an  excellent 
model  for  his  family,  his  vanity  was  wounded  by 
nature's  perverseness.  Furthermore,  he  distinctly 
disliked  that  sort  of  social  prominence  which  is 
the  portion  of  those  who  are  not  like  the  majority, 
or  who  do  not  think  with  the  majority  and  say  so. 
Both  Mrs.  Slayback  and  Miss  Lauderdale  attracted 
attention  in  that  way. 

Mrs.  Slayback  was  handsome  and  vain,  and  be 
lieved  herself  to  be  proud  in  the  better  sense  of  the 
word.  She  had  married  her  husband  for  two  rea 
sons  :  because  she  found  the  paternal  home  intoler 
able,  and  because,  besides  being  rich,  Benjamin 
Slayback  was  thought  to  be  a  man  who  had  a  brill 
iant  future  before  him  in  the  world  of  politics. 
Charlotte  had  believed  that  she  could  rule  him, 
and  herself  become  a  power.  In  this  she  had 
been  disappointed  at  the  outset,  having  been  de 
ceived  by  a  certain  almost  childlike  simplicity 
of  exterior,  which  was  in  reality  one  of  Slayback's 
strongest  weapons.  He  admired  her  very  much ; 


THE  RALSTONS.  5 

he  looked  up  to  her  with  admiration  for  her  supe 
rior  social  acquirements,  and  he  treated  her  with  a 
sort  of  barbaric  liberality  to  which  she  had  not 
been  accustomed.  But  within  himself  he  followed 
his  own  political  devices  without  consulting  her, 
and  with  a  smiling  reticence  which  convinced  her 
most  unpleasantly  that  she  was  not  intellectually 
a  match  for  him.  This  was  all  the  more  painful  as 
she  considered  him  to  be  her  social  inferior,  a 
point  of  view  which  was  popular  with  some  of 
her  intimate  friends  in  New  York,  but  much  less 
so  in  Washington,  and  not  at  all  in  Nevada. 

The  immediate  consequence  of  this  state  of 
affairs  was  that  Charlotte  and  her  husband  did 
not  agree.  Both  were  disappointed,  though  in  an 
unequal  measure.  Slayback  claimed  that  any 
woman  should  be  contented  who  had  what  he 
gave  his  wife.  Charlotte  thought  that  she  showed 
great  forbearance  in  not  leaving  a  man  whom  she 
could  not  rule.  It  was  not  worth  while,  she  said 
to  herself,  to  have  accepted  a  man  who  had,  at  her 
first  acquaintance  with  him,  worn  a  green  tie ; 
whose  speech  at  home  was  remarkable  rather  for 
its  '  burr '  than  for  its  grammar,  and  who  did 
queer  things  with  his  knife  and  fork  —  unless  his 
undeniable  intelligence  and  force  were  to  be  at 
her  service  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  her  feel  that 
she  was  at  least  as  powerful  a  person  as  he.  She 
had  condemned  the  green  tie,  and  he  had  sub- 


6  THE  E ALSTONS. 

mitted,  and  she  had  successfully  conveyed  hints 
against  cutting  fish  and  potatoes  with  a  steel  knife ; 
but  in  the  matter  of  grammar  she  had  been  less 
successful.  When  Benjamin  was  on  his  legs  on 
the  floor  of  the  House,  as  he  often  was,  he  could 
speak  very  well  indeed,  which  made  it  all  the 
more  unpleasant  when  he  relapsed  into  the  use  of 
dialect,  not  to  say  slang,  at  his  own  table.  He 
was  a  jovial  man  over  his  dinner,  too,  and  she 
particularly  detested  jovial  men,  especially  when 
they  spoke  English  not  altogether  correctly.  She 
had  vaguely  hoped  that  Benjamin  would  be  spoken 
of  as  Mrs.  Slayback's  husband,  but  it  had  turned 
out  that,  in  spite  of  her  beauty  and  brilliant  con 
versation,  she  was  spoken  of  as  Benjamin  Slay- 
back's  wife.  By  way  of  outshining  him.  she  had 
conceived  the  plan  of  outshining  everybody  else 
in  matters  of  fashion  and  fashionable  eccentricity. 
She  had  spoken  to  more  than  one  member  of  the 
family  of  obtaining  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of 
incompatibility  of  temper,  which,  she  said,  could 
be  managed  in  Nevada,  since  New  York  was  so 
absurdly  strict  about  divorces.  It  was  evidently 
within  the  bounds  of  the  possible  that  she  might 
have  spoken  in  this  sense  to  friends  who  were  not 
related  to  her,  as  her  father  knew.  Altogether,  he 
was  aware  that  she  was  talked  of  and  he  suspected 
that  she  was  laughed  at.  She  had  been  seen  to 
smoke  cigarettes,  it  was  reported  that  she  had 


THE  R ALSTONS.  1 

driven  four-in-hand,  and  Alexander  would  have 
been  less  surprised  than  shocked  if  he  had  heard 
that  she  played  poker  with  her  intimates  and  bet 
on  horse-races. 

It  was  hard  that  such  a  man  should  have  such  a 
daughter,  he  thought,  and  that  all  this  should  be 
the  result  of  so  much  careful  and  highly  correct 
training  and  education.  .  It  was  harder  still  that 
his  younger  child  should  be  as  completely  out  of 
sympathy  with  him  as  her  elder  sister,  especially 
as  Katharine  outwardly  resembled  him,  at  least 
a  little,  whereas  Charlotte  had  inherited  her  fair 
complexion  from  her  mother. 

Of  the  two,  Katharine  was  the  more  difficult  to 
deal  with,  and  he  was  glad  that  her  peculiarities 
were  mental  rather  than  outwardly  manifested  in 
her  behaviour,  as  her  sister's  were.  But  of  their 
kind,  they  were  strong  and  caused  him  great  anx 
iety.  There  was  a  mystery  about  her  thoughts, 
too,  which  he  could  not  fathom,  and  which  influ 
enced  her  conduct,  as  though  she  had  some  secret 
motive  for  some  of  her  actions  and  for  many  of 
her  opinions,  which  might,  perhaps,  have  explained 
both,  but  which  she  was  not  willing  to  divulge. 
Katharine  held  views  upon  religion  which  were  of 
the  most  disquieting  character,  and  Katharine  flatly 
refused  to  speak  of  being  married.  These  were 
Alexander  Junior's  principal  grievances  against  her. 

So  far  as  the  second  of  these  was  concerned,  he 


8  THE  EALSTONS. 

might  have  found  plenty  of  excuse  for  her,  had  he 
sought  it,  in  his  own  character.  Whatever  his 
faults  might  be,  he  had  been  a  very  faithful  man. 
He  had  married  Emma  Camperdown,  the  famous 
beauty  from  Kentucky,  when  they  had  both  been 
very  young,  and  he  had  loved  her  all  his  life,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  a  Eoman  Catholic 
and  he  a  very  puritanically  inclined  Presbyterian 
of  the  older  school.  Love  that  will  bear  the  strain 
of  religious  differences,  when  religious  conviction 
exists  on  both  sides,  must  be  of  a  very  robust 
nature,  and  Alexander's  had  borne  it  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century.  It  was  true  that  his  wife,  who  had 
been  born  a  Catholic,  was  not  aggressively  devout ; 
but  in  his  view  of  the  matter,  her  errors  were 
mortal  ones,  and  the  thought  of  her  probable  fate 
in  a  future  existence  had  really  saddened  the  hard 
man's  life.  But  it  had  not  diminished  nor  shaken 
his  love.  About  that,  there  was  nothing  romantic, 
nor  Quixotic,  nor  emotional.  It  had  none  of  the 
fine,  outward  qualities  which  often  belong  abun 
dantly  to  transient  passions.  There  was  in  it  a 
good  deal  of  the  sense  of  property,  which  was  very 
clearly  defined  with  him,  and  he  lacked  in  most 
ways  the  delicacies  and  tendernesses  which  are  the 
rarest  and  most  beautiful  ornaments  of  the  strong. 
But  such  as  it  was,  its  endurance  and  good  faith 
were  unquestionable.  Indeed,  endurance  and  up 
rightness  were  Alexander's  principal  virtues.  Both 


THE  RALSTONS.  9 

were  genuine,  and  both  were  so  remarkable  as  to 
raise  him  high  in  the  respect  of  his  fellow-men. 
If  he  had  secrets,  he  had  a  right  to  keep  them,  for 
they  concerned  nobody  but  himself,  and  he  was 
naturally  reticent. 

Katharine  had  some  similar  qualities.  She  had 
loved  her  distant  cousin,  John  Ralston,  a  long  time, 
and  she  was  as  faithful  and  enduring  as  her  father. 
Kalston  loved  her  quite  as  dearly  and  truly,  but 
Alexander  Junior  would  not  have  him  for  a  son-in- 
law,  and  had  told  him  so  in  an  exceedingly  plain 
and  forcible  manner.  His  objection  was  that  Kals 
ton  seemed  unable  to  do  anything  for  himself, 
and  had,  moreover,  acquired  a  reputation  for  being 
fast  and  dissipated.  He  was  not  rich,  either.  His 
father,  Admiral  Ralston,  had  been  dead  several 
years,  and  John  lived  with  his  mother  on  twelve 
thousand  a  year.  The  young  man, had  made  two 
attempts  at  steady  work  and  was  now  making  his 
third,  the  previous  ones  having  resulted  in  his 
leaving  the  lawyer's  office  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself,  at  the  end  of  three  months,  and  the  great 
banking  establishment  of  Beman  Brothers,  in  Broad 
Street,  after  a  trial  of  only  six  weeks.  He  had  now 
gone  back  to  Beman's,  having  been  readmitted  as 
an  especial  favour  to  Mr.  Robert  Lauderdale,  with 
no  salary  and  with  an  unlimited  period  of  proba 
tion  before  him.  He  was  a  popular  young  fellow 
enough,  but  he  was  not  what  is  called  a  promising 


10  THE  RALSTONS. 

youth,  though  his  ways  had  improved  considerably 
during  the  last  few  months.  Mr.  Benian  said  that 
he  came  regularly  to  the  bank  and  seemed  disposed 
to  work,  but  that  his  ignorance  of  business  was 
something  phenomenal.  Nevertheless,  to  please 
old  Robert  the  Rich,  John  Ralston  was  tolerated, 
so  long  as  he  behaved  himself  properly. 

And  Katharine  loved  him,  in  spite  of  her  father's 
disapproval  and  her  mother's  good  advice.  For 
during  the  preceding  winter  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  who 
had  once  favoured  the  match,  had  gone  over  to  the 
enemy,  and  showed  a  very  great  and  almost  unbe 
coming  anxiety  to  see  Katharine  married.  Hamil 
ton  Bright,  another  distant  relative  and  the  junior 
partner  of  Bemaii  Brothers,  would  have  married 
her  at  any  moment,  and  he  was  a  very  desirable 
man.  The  fact  that  he  was  a  relative  was  in  his 
favour,  too,  for  both  he  and  Katharine  would  prob 
ably  in  the  end  inherit  a  share  of  the  enormous 
Lauderdale  fortune,  and  it  would  be  as  well  that 
the  money  should  not  go  out  of  the  family.  Robert 
Lauderdale  had  never  married,  and  was  now  well 
over  seventy  years  of  age,  though  his  strength  had 
not  as  yet  come  to  labour  and  sorrow. 

Katharine  did  not  talk  of  John  Ralston.  Espe 
cially  of  late,  she  avoided  saying  anything  about 
him.  But  she  would  look  at  no  one  else,  though  she 
had  no  lack  of  suitors  besides  Hamilton  Bright,  and 
in  spite  of  her  reticence  it  was  easy  to  see  that  her 


THE  R ALSTONS.  11 

feelings  towards  Ralston  had  not  undergone  any 
change.  Once,  during  the  preceding  winter,  Alex 
ander  had  been  visited  by  a  ray  of  hope.  Ralston 
had  been  reported  by  the  newspapers  as  having  got 
into  a  bad  scrape,  winding  up  with  an  encounter 
with  a  pugilist,  and  ending  in  his  being  brought 
home  by  policemen  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  It 
had  actually  been  said  that  he  had  been  the  worse 
for  too  much  champagne,  and  during  a  few  hours 
Mr.  Lauderdale  had  hoped  that  Katharine  would 
be  disgusted  and  would  give  him  up.  But  it  turned 
out  to  have  been  all  a  mistake.  jSTo  less  a  person 
age  than  the  celebrated  Doctor  Routh  had  at  once 
written  to  the  papers,  stating  that  he  had  attended 
John  Ralston  when  he  had  been  brought  home, 
that  he  had  met  with  an  accident,  and  that  the  cur 
rent  statements  about  his  condition  were  utterly- 
false  and  libellous.  And  there  the  matter  had 
ended.  Alexander  might  congratulate  himself 
upon  having  got  the  alliance  of  his  wife  against 
John,  but  their  united  efforts  to  move  their 
daughter  had  proved  as  fruitless  as  his  own 
had  been  when  unassisted. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  patiently, 
and  to  hope  that  she  might  forget  her  cousin  in 
the  course  of  time.  Meanwhile,  another  anxiety 
presented  itself,  almost  as  serious,  in  her  father's 
opinion.  She  had  been  brought  up  as  a  Presbyte 
rian,  like  her  sister,  in  accordance  with  his  wishes, 


12  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

and  in  this  respect  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  been  con 
scientious,  though  her  antagonism  to  her  husband's 
church  was  deep-seated  and  abiding.  But  of  late 
Katharine  had  begun  to  express  very  dangerous 
and  subversive  opinions  in  regard  to  things  in  gen 
eral  and  in  respect  of  religion  in  particular.  Her 
mind  seemed  to  have  reached  its  growth  and  to 
have  entered  upon  its  development.  Katharine 
was  going  astray  after  strange  new  doctrines,  Alex 
ander  thought,  and  he  did  not  like  the  savour  of 
mysticism  in  the  fragments  of  her  conversation 
which  he  occasionally  overheard.  Though  he  could 
not  with  equanimity  bear  to  hear  any  one  deny  the 
existence  of  the  soul,  he  disliked  almost  more  to 
hear  it  spoken  of  as  though  humanity  could  have 
anything  to  do  with  it  directly,  beyond  believing  in 
its  presence  and  future  destiny.  Whether  this  was 
due  to  the  form  of  the  traditions  in  which  he  had 
been  brought  up,  or  was  the  result  of  his  own 
exceedingly  vague  beliefs  in  regard  to  the  soul's 
nature,  it  is  of  no  use  to  enquire.  The  fact  was 
the  same  in  its  consequences.  He  was  very  much 
disturbed  about  Katharine's  views,  as  he  called 
them,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  conscious  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  that  no  confidence  existed 
between  her  and  him,  and  that  their  spheres  of 
thought  on  all  subjects  were  separated  by  a  blank 
and  impenetrable  wall. 

Then,  too,  Katharine  had  of  late  shown  a  strong 


THE  R ALSTONS.  13 

predilection  for  the  society  of  Paul  Griggs,  a 
man  of  letters  and  of  considerable  reputation,  who 
was  said  to  have  strange  views  upon  many  sub 
jects,  who  had  lived  in  many  countries,  and  who 
had  about  him  something  half  mysterious,  which 
offended  the  commonplace  respectability  of  Alex 
ander  Lauderdale's  character.  Not  that  Alexander 
thought  himself  commonplace,  and  as  for  his  re 
spectability,  it  was  of  the  solid  kind  which  the 
world  calls  social  position,  and  which  such  people 
themselves  secretly  look  upon  as  the  proud  inheri 
tance  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  family.  Every 
thing  that  Paul  Griggs  said  jarred  unpleasantly 
on  Alexander  Lauderdale's  single  but  sensitive 
string,  which  was  his  conservatism. 

Griggs  disclaimed  ever  having  had  anything  to 
do  with  modern  Buddhism,  for  instance.  But  he 
had  somehow  got  the  reputation  of  being  what  peo 
ple  call  a  Buddhist  when  they  know  nothing  of 
Buddha.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  happened  to  be 
a  Roman  Catholic.  But  Mr.  Lauderdale  had  heard 
him  use  expressions  which  had  fixed  the  popular 
impression  in  his  mind.  The  conversation  of  such 
a  man  could  not  be  good  for  an  impressionable 
girl  like  Katharine,  he  thought.  He  took  it  for 
granted  that  Katharine  was  impressionable  because 
she  was  a  girl  and  young.  Mr.  Griggs  said  very  par 
adoxical  things  sometimes,  and  Katharine  quoted 
them  afterwards.  Mr.  Lauderdale  hated  paradox 


14  THE  RALSTONS. 

as  he  hated  everything  which  was  in  direct  oppo 
sition  to  generally  received  opinion.  It  was  most 
disagreeable  to  him  to  hear  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  future,  as  distinguished  from  past  or 
present,  when  so  much  of  his  private  meditation 
had  for  its  object  the  definition  of  the  future  state 
for  himself  and  others.  He  did  not  like  Mr. 
Griggs'  way  of  referring  to  the  popular  idea  of  the 
Supreme  Being  as  a  t  magnified,  non-natural  man ' 
—  and  when  Griggs  quoted  Dante's  opinion  in  the 
matter,  Alexander  Lauderdale  set  down  Dante  Ali- 
ghieri  as  an  insignificant  agnostic,  which  was  un 
just,  and  branded  Mr.  Griggs  as  another,  which 
was  an  exaggeration.  Now,  whatever  the  truth 
might  be,  he  considered  that  Katharine  was  in 
great  danger,  and  that  although  Providence  was 
necessarily  just,  it  might  have  shown  more  kind 
ness  and  discretion  in  selecting  the  olive  branches 
it  had  vouchsafed  to  him. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  of  the  two  extremes 
to  which  his  daughters  seemed  inclined  to  go,  he 
preferred  the  one  chosen  by  Katharine.  That,  at 
least,  gave  no  open  offence.  Morally,  it  was  worse 
to  dissect  the  traditional  soul  as  it  had  been  handed 
down  in  its  accepted  form  through  many  genera 
tions  of  religious  men,  than  to  smoke  a  cigarette 
after  a  dinner  party.  But  in  practice,  the  effect  of 
the  cigarette  upon  the  opinion  of  society  was  out 
of  all  proportion  greater,  and  Charlotte  was  there- 


THE  RALSTONS.  15 

fore  worse  than  Katharine,  as  a  daughter,  though 
she  might  not  be  so  bad  when  looked  upon  as  a 
subject  for  potential  salvation. 

All  this  disturbed  Alexander  Lauderdale  very 
much,  for  he  saw  no  immediate  prospect  of  any 
improvement  in  the  condition  of  things.  For  once 
in  his  life  his  daughters  were  almost  his  chief 
preoccupation.  If  he  had  been  subject  to  absence 
of  mind,  something  might,  perhaps,  have  got  out 
of  order  in  the  minute  details  of  the  Trust  Com 
pany's  working.  In  that  respect,  however,  he  was 
superior  to  circumstances.  But  when  he  was  mo 
mentarily  idle,  his  mind  reverted  to  its  accustomed 
channels,  and  the  problem  regarding  the  future  of 
his  daughters  got  into  the  way  and  upset  his  finan 
cial  calculations,  and  made  him  really  unhappy. 
For  his  financial  calculations  were  apparently  of  a 
nature  which  made  them  pleasant  to  contemplate, 
although  he  declared  himself  to  be  so  very  poor. 

On  that  particular  Saturday  morning  he  was  in 
terrupted  in  his  solitude  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  his  wife.  It  was  not  often  that  she  had  entered 
his  office  during  the  ten  years  since  he  had  been 
installed  in  it,  and  he  was  so  much  surprised  by 
her  coming  that  he  positively  started,  and  half  rose 
out  of  his  chair. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  a  beautiful  woman  still, 
and  would  be  beautiful  if  she  lived  to  extreme  old 
age.  But  she  was  already  past  the  period  up  to 


16  THE  E ALSTONS. 

which  a  woman  may  hope  to  preserve  the  freshness 
of  a  late  youth.  The  certainty  that  her  beauty 
was  waning  had  come  over  her  very  suddenly  on  a 
winter's  evening  not  long  ago,  when  she  had  noticed 
that  the  man  who  was  talking  to  her  looked  per 
sistently  at  Katharine  instead  of  at  herself;  and 
just  then,  catching  sight  of  her  face  in  a  mirror, 
and  being  tired  at  the  time,  she  had  realized  that 
she  was  no  longer  supreme.  It  had  been  a  bitter 
moment,  and  had  left  a  wound  never  to  be  healed. 
The  perfect,  classic  features,  the  beautiful  blue 
eyes,  the  fair  waving  hair,  were  all  present  still. 
Her  tall  figure  was  upright  and  active,  and  she 
had  no  tendency  to  grow  stout  or  heavy.  She  had 
many  reasons  for  congratulating  herself,  but  the 
magic  halo  was  gone,  and  she  knew  it.  Some 
women  never  find  it  out  until  they  are  really  old, 
and  they  suffer  less. 

At  the  present  moment,  as  she  entered  her  hus 
band's  office,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  believe 
that  Mrs.  Lauderdale  could  be  more  than  five  and 
thirty  years  of  age.  The  dark  coat  she  wore 
showed  her  figure  well,  and  her  thin  veil  separated 
and  hid  away  the  imperfections  of  what  had  once 
been  perfect.  Sha  was  a  little  agitated,  too,  and 
the  colour  was  in  her  cheeks  —  a  trifle  too  much 
of  it,  perhaps,  but  softened  to  the  delicacy  of  a 
peach  blossom  by  the  dark  gauze. 

She  paused  a  moment  as  she  closed  the   door 


THE  RALSTONS.  17 

behind  her,  glancing  first  at  her  husband,  and  then 
looking  about  the  unfamiliar  room,  to  satisfy  her 
self  that  they  were  alone. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Emma,"  said 
Alexander  Junior,  rising  definitely  and  coming  to 
meet  her. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  I  don't 
often  come,  do  I?  I  know  you  don't  like  to  be 
disturbed.  But  as  this  is  Saturday,  and  I  knew 
you  would  be  coming  up  town  early,  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind.  It's  rather  important." 

"  I  trust  nothing  bad  has  happened,"  observed 
Alexander,  drawing  up  a  chair  for  her. 

"Bad?  Well  —  I  don't  know.  Yes  —  of  course 
it  is  !  It's  serious,  at  all  events.  Uncle  Robert's 
dying.  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  —  " 

"  Dying  ?     Uncle  Robert  ?  " 

Alexander  Lauderdale's  metallic  voice  rang 
through  the  room,  and  his  smooth,  lean  hands 
grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

An  instant  later  he  looked  a  little  nervously  at 
the  door,  as  though  hoping  that  no  one  had  heard 
his  words,  nor  the  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken 
them.  A  dark  flush  rose  in  his  face  and  the  veins 
at  his  temple  swelled  suddenly,  while  his  grip  on 
the  chair  seemed  to  tighten,  and  he  turned  his  eyes 
on  his  wife. 

"Dying!"  he  repeated  in  a  low  voice.  "What  has 
happened  to  him  ?  When  did  you  hear  of  this  ?  " 

VOL.   I.  —  2 


18  THE  RALSTONS. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  not  expected  him  to  show 
so  much  feeling.  She,  herself,  was  far  from  calm, 
however,  and  did  not  notice  his  extreme  agitation 
as  though  it  were  anything  unnatural. 

"  Doctor  Kouth  came  to  tell  me,"  she  answered. 
"He's  been  there  all  the  morning — and  as  there 
was  time  before  luncheon,  I  thought  I'd  come  —  " 

"But  what's  the  matter  with  the  old  gentleman? 
This  is  very  surprising  news  —  very  sad  news, 
Emma." 

A  rather  spasmodic,  electric  smile  had  momen 
tarily  appeared  on  Alexander  Lauderdale's  face, 
disappearing  again  instantly,  as  he  uttered  the 
last  words. 

"I'm  very  much  overcome  by  this  news,"  he 
added,  after  a  short  hesitation. 

He  did  not  appear  to  be  so  deeply  grieved  as  he 
said  that  he  was,  but  the  words  were  appropriate, 
and  Mrs.  Lauderdale  recognized  the  fact  at  once. 

"  It  will  make  a  great  difference,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  should  say  so.  I  should  say  so," 
repeated  Alexander  Junior,  not  with  emphasis,  but 
slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "  However,"  he  contin 
ued,  suddenly,  "we  mustn't  count  —  I  mean  —  yes 
—  we  —  we  mustn't  altogether  place  our  confidence 
in  man  —  though  Doctor  Routh  certainly  stands  at 
the  head  of  his  profession.  It's  our  duty  to  see 
that  other  physicians  are  called  in  consultation. 
We  must  do  our  utmost  to  help.  Indeed  —  it 


THE  EALSTONS.  19 

might  have  been  wiser  if  you  had  gone  there  at 
once  and  had  sent  a  messenger  for  me,  instead  of 
coming  here.  But  —  yes  —  yen  haven't  told  me 
what  the  matter  is,  my  dear.  Is  it  —  anything  in 
the  nature  of  apoplexy  —  or  the  heart  —  you 
know  ?  At  his  age,  people  rarely  —  but,  of  course, 
while  there's  life,  there's  hope.  We  mustn't  for 
get  that." 

He  seemed  unable  to  wait  for  his  wife's  answer 
to  his  questions. 

"Why,  no,  my  dear,"  she  replied.  "You  know 
he's  not  been  very  well  for  some  days.  He's 
worse  —  that's  all.  It  was  nothing  but  a  cold  at 
first,  but  it's  turned  into  pneumonia." 

"  Pneumonia  ?  Dear  me  !  At  his  age,  people 
rarely  live  through  it  —  however,  he's  very  strong, 
of  course.  Difference ! "  he  exclaimed,  softly. 
"  Yes  —  a  great  difference.  It  —  it  will  make  a 
great  gap  in  the  family,  Emma.  We're  all  so  fond 
of  him,  and  I'm  deeply  attached  to  him,  for  my 
part.  As  for  my  poor  father,  he  will  be  quite 
overcome.  I  hope  he  has  not  been  told  yet." 

"No  —  I  thought  I'd  wait  and  see  you  first." 

"  Quite  right,  my  dear  —  quite  right  —  very  wise. 
In  the  meantime,  I  think  we  should  be  going. 
Yes  —  it's  just  as  well  that  you  didn't  take  off  your 
hat." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  touched  one  of  the  row 
of  electric  buttons  on  his  desk.  A  man  in  the  liv- 


20  THE  R ALSTONS. 

ery  of  the  Company  appeared  at  the  door,  just  as 
Alexander  was  taking  up  his  overcoat. 

"I'm  going  up  town  a  little  earlier  than  usual, 
Donald,"  he  said.  "  Inform  Mr.  Arbuckle.  If  any 
thing  unusual  should  occur,  send  to  Mr.  Harrison 
Beman." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  That's  all,  Donald." 

The  man  faced  about  and  left  the  office,  having 
stood  still  for  several  seconds,  staring  at  Alexan 
der.  Donald  had  been  twenty  years  in  the  Com 
pany's  service,  and  did  not  remember  that  Mr. 
Lauderdale  had  ever  left  the  office  before  hours  in 
all  the  ten  years  since  he  had  been  chief,  nor  in  the 
preceding  ten  during  which  he  had  occupied  more 
or  less  subordinate  positions. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  daintily  pulled  down  her  veil 
and  pulled  up  her  gloves,  shook  out  her  frock  a 
little  and  looked  at  the  points  of  her  shoes,  then 
straightened  her  tall  figure  and  stood  ready.  Alex 
ander  had  slipped  on  his  coat,  and  was  smoothing 
his  hat  with  a  silk  handkerchief  which  he  always 
carried  about  him  for  that  purpose.  He  had  dis 
covered  that  it  made  the  hat  last  longer.  Both  he 
and  his  wife  had  unconsciously  assumed  that  inde 
scribable  air  which  people  put  on  when  they  are 
about  to  go  to  church. 

"We'll  take  the  Third  Avenue  Elevated,"  said 
Mr.  Lauderdale.  "  It's  shorter  for  us." 


THE  RALSTONS.  21 

Robert  Lauderdale's  house  was  close  to  the  Park. 
The  pair  went  out  together  into  Broad  Street,  and 
the  people  stared  at  them  as  they  threaded  their 
way  through  the  crowd.  They  were  a  handsome 
and  striking  couple,  well  contrasted,  the  dark  man, 
just  turning  grey,  and  the  fair  woman,  still  as  fair 
as  ever.  It  might  even  be  said  that  there  was 
something  imposing  in  their  appearance.  They 
had  that  look  of  unaffectedly  conscious  superiority 
which  those  who  most  dislike  it  most  strenuously 
endeavour  to  imitate.  Moreover,  when  a  lady,  of 
even  passably  good  looks,  appears  down  town 
between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing,  she  is  certain  to  be  stared  at.  Very  soon, 
however,  the  Lauderdales  had  left  the  busiest  part 
of  the  multitude  behind  them.  They  walked 
quickly,  with  a  preoccupied  manner,  exchanging  a 
few  words  from  time  to  time.  Lauderdale  was 
gradually  recovering  from  his  first  surprise. 

"  Did  Eouth  say  that  there  was  no  hope  ? "  he 
asked,  as  they  paused  at  a  crossing. 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "He  didn't 
say  that.  He  said  that  uncle  Robert's  condition 
caused  him  grave  anxiety.  Those  were  his  very 
words.  You  know  how  he  speaks  when  a  thing  is 
serious.  He  said  he  thought  that  we  all  ought  to 
know  it." 

"Of  course  —  of  course.  Very  proper.  We 
should  be  the  first,  I'm  sure." 


22  THE  B  ALSTONS. 

It  would  not  be  fair,  perhaps,  to  say  that  Alex 
ander's  voice  expressed  disappointment.  But  he 
spoke  very  coldly  and  his  lips  closed  mechanically, 
like  a  trap,  after  his  words.  They  went  on  a  little 
further.  Then  Mrs.  Lauderdale  spoke,  with  some 
hesitation. 

"  Alexander  —  I  suppose  you  don't  know  exactly 
—  do  you  ?  "  She  turned  and  looked  at  his  face  as 
she  walked. 

"  About  what  ?  "  he  asked,  glancing  at  her  and 
then  looking  on  before  him  again. 

"  Well  —  you  know  —  about  the  will  —  " 

"My  dear,  what  a  very  foolish  question!" 
answered  Alexander,  with  some  emphasis.  "We 
have  often  talked  about  it.  How  in  the  world 
should  I  know  any  better  than  any  one  else  ? 
Uncle  Robert  is  a  secretive  man.  He  never  told 
me  anything." 

"Because  there  are  the  Ralstons,  you  know," 
pursued  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  After  all,  they're  just 
as  near  as  you  are,  in  the  way  of  relationship." 

"My  father  is  the  elder — older  than  uncle  Rob 
ert,"  said  Alexander.  "Katharine  Ralston's  father 
was  the  youngest  of  the  three." 

"  Does  that  make  a  difference  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Lauderdale. 

"It  ought  to!"  Alexander  answered,  energeti 
cally. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"I'M  not  dying,  I  tell  you!  Don't  bother  me, 
Routh  ! " 

Robert  Lauderdale  turned  impatiently  on  his 
side  as  he  spoke,  and  pointed  to  a  chair  with  one 
of  his  big,  old  hands.  Doctor  Routh,  an  immensely 
tall,  elderly  man,  with  a  long  grey  beard  and  violet 
blue  eyes,  laughed  a  little  under  his  breath,  and 
sat  down. 

"I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  you  are  going  to  die," 
he  said,  pleasantly. 

"  That's  a  comfort,  at  all  events,"  answered  the 
sick  man,  in  a  husky  voice,  but  quite  distinctly. 
"What  the  deuce  made  you  say  I  was  going  to 
die,  if  I  wasn't  ?  " 

"  Some  people  are  stronger  than  others,"  an 
swered  the  doctor. 

"I  used  to  be,  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  It  won't  do  you  any  good  to  talk.  If  you  can't 
keep  quiet,  I  shall  have  to  go  away." 

"  All  right.     I  say  —  mayn't  I  smoke  ?  " 

"No.     Positively  not." 

Doctor  Routh  smiled  again ;  for  he  considered  it 
a  hopeful  sign  that  the  old  man  should  have  a  dis- 
23 


24  THE  R ALSTONS. 

tinct  taste  for  anything,  considering  how  ill  he  had 
been.  A  long  silence  followed,  during  which  the 
two  looked  at  one  another  occasionally.  Lauderdale 
was  twenty  years  older  than  the  doctor,  who  was 
the  friend,  as  well  as  the  physician,  of  all  the 
Lauderdale  tribe  —  with  one  or  two  exceptions. 

The  room  was  larger  and  higher  than  most  bed 
rooms  in  New  York,  but  it  was  simply  furnished, 
and  there  was  very  little  which  could  be  properly 
considered  as  ornamental.  Everything  which  was 
of  wood  was  of  white  pear,  and  the  curtains  were 
of  plain  white  velvet,  without  trimmings.  Such 
metal  work  as  was  visible  was  of  steel.  There 
was  a  large  white  Persian  carpet  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  two  or  three  skins  of  Persian  sheep 
served  for  rugs.  Robert  Lauderdale  loved  light 
and  whiteness,  a  strange  fancy  for  so  old  a  man ; 
but  the  room  was  in  harmony  with  his  personality, 
and,  to  some  extent,  with  his  appearance.  The 
colour  was  all  gone  from  his  face,  his  blue  eyes 
were  sunken  and  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  but  his 
hair,  once  red,  looked  sandy  by  contrast  with  the 
snow-white  stuffs,  and  his  beard  had  beautiful, 
pale,  smoke-coloured  shadows  in  it,  like  clouded 
meerschaum.  It  was  not  surprising  that  Routh 
should  have  believed  him,  and  believed  him  still, 
to  be  in  very  great  danger.  Nevertheless,  there 
was  strength  in  him  yet,  and  if  he  recovered 
he  might  last  a  few  years  longer.  He  breathed 


THE  EALSTONS.  25 

rather  painfully,  and  moved  uneasily  from  time  to 
time,  as  though  trying  to  find  a  position  in  which 
he  could  draw  breath  with  less  effort.  Routh  sat 
motionless  by  his  bedside  in  the  white  stillness. 

"  What's  the  name  of  that  fellow  who's  written 
a  book  ?  "  asked  the  sick  man,  suddenly. 

"  What  book  ?  "  enquired  the  doctor. 

"  Novel  —  about  the  social  question  —  don't  you 
know  ?  There's  an  old  chap  in  it  who  has  money 
—  something  like  me." 

"Oh!  I  know.    Griggs  —  that's  the  man's  name." 

"  What  is  Griggs,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Robert  Laud- 
erdale,  in  the  hoarse  growl  which  served  him  for  a 
voice  at  present. 

"  Griggs  ?  He's  what  they  call  a  man  of  letters, 
or  a  literary  man,  or  a  novelist,  or  a  genius,  or  a 
humbug.  I've  always  known  him  a  little,  though 
he's  younger  than  I  am.  The  only  good  thing 
I  know  about  him  is  that  he  works  hard.  Now 
don't  talk.  It  isn't  good  for  you." 

"Well  — you  talk,  then.  I'll  listen,"  grumbled 
old  Lauderdale. 

Thereupon  both  relapsed  into  silence,  Doctor 
Routh  being  one  of  those  people  who  cannot  make 
conversation  to  order.  Indeed,  he  was  a  taciturn 
man  at  most  times.  Lauderdale  watched  him, 
coughed  a  little  and  turned  uneasily,  but  made  a 
sign  to  him  that  he  wanted  no  help. 

"  Why  don't  you  talk  ?  "  he  enquired,  at  last. 


26  THE  BALSTONS. 

"  About  Griggs  ?  I  haven't  read  but  one  or  two 
of  his  books.  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  him." 

"Do  you  think  he's  a  dangerous  friend  for  a 
young  girl,  Routh  ?  " 

"  Griggs  ?  "  Routh  laughed  in  his  grey  beard. 
"  Hardly  !  He's  as  ugly  as  a  camel,  to  begin  with 
—  and  he's  getting  on.  Griggs  —  why,  Griggs 
must  be  fifty,  at  least.  Did  you  never  see  him  ? 
He's  been  about  all  the  spring  —  came  back  from 
the  Caucasus  in  January  or  February.  What  put 
it  into  your  head  that  he  would  be  a  dangerous 
acquaintance  for  a  young  woman  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  his  looks  —  I  mean  his  ideas." 

"  Stuff ! "  ejaculated  Doctor  Routh.  «  He's  only 
got  the  modern  mania  for  psychology.  What  harm 
can  that  do  ?  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?     Alexander's  an  ass." 

Robert  Lauderdale  turned  his  head  away  as 
though  he  had  settled  the  question  which  had  tor 
mented  him.  Again  there  was  a  silence  in  the 
room.  The  doctor  looked  at  his  patient  with  a 
rather  inscrutable  expression,  then  took  out  his 
watch,  replaced  it,  and  consulted  his  pocket-book. 
At  last  he  rose  and  walked  toward  the  window 
noiselessly  on  the  thick,  white  carpet. 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  going,"  he  said.  "  I've  got 
a  consultation.  Cheever's  downstairs." 

Doctor  Cheever  was  Doctor  Routh's  assistant, 
who  did  not  leave  the  house  during  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale's  illness. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  27 

"  And  you  can  send  away  the  undertaker,  if  he's 
waiting,"  growled  the  sick  man,  with  an  attempt 
at  a  laugh.  "I  say  —  can  I  see  people,  if  they 
call  ?  I  suppose  my  nephews  and  nieces  will  be 
here  before  long." 

"  It's  no  use  to  tell  you  what  to  do.  You'll  do 
just  what  you  please,  anyway.  Professionally,  I 
tell  you  to  keep  quiet,  not  to  talk,  and  to  sleep  if 
you  can.  You're  not  like  other  people,"  added 
Routh,  thoughtfully. 

"Why  not?" 

"Most  men  in  your  position  are  badly  scared 
when  it  comes  to  going  out.  The  efforts  they 
make  to  save  themselves  sometimes  kill  them. 
You  seem  rather  indifferent  about  it.  Yet  you 
have  a  good  deal  to  leave  behind  you." 

"H'm  —  I've  had  it  all  —  and  a  long  time.  But 
I  want  to  see  Katharine  Lauderdale,  if  she  comes." 

"I'll  send  for  her  if  it's  anything  important," 
said  Doctor  Routh,  promptly. 

The  sick  man  looked  quickly  at  him.  It  seemed 
as  though  his  readiness  to  send  for  Katharine  im 
plied  some  doubts  as  to  his  patient's  safety. 

"I  don't  believe  I'm  going  to  die,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "  What  are  my  chances,  Routh  ?  It's 
your  duty  to  tell  me,  if  you  know." 

"I  don't  know.  If  I  did,  I'd  tell  you.  You're 
a  very  sick  man  —  and  they'll  all  want  to  see  you, 
of  course.  I  —  well,  I  don't  mean  to  say  anything 


28  THE  EALSTONS. 

disagreeable  about  them.  On  the  contrary  —  it  is 
natural  that  they  should  take  an  interest  —  " 

"  Devilish  natural,"  answered  old  Lauderdale, 
with  the  noise  that  represented  a  laugh.  "But  I 
want  to  see  Katharine." 

"  Very  well.  Then  see  her.  But  don't  talk  too 
much.  That's  one  reason  why  I'm  going  now. 
You  can't  keep  quiet  for  five  minutes  while  I'm  in 
the  room.  Good-bye.  I'll  be  back  in  the  after 
noon,  sometime.  If  you  feel  any  worse,  send  for 
me.  Cheever  will  come  and  look  at  you  now  and 
then  —  he  won't  talk,  and  he'll  call  me  up  at  my 
telephone  statical,  if  I'm  wanted." 

"  Well  —  if  you  think  it's  touch  and  go,  send  for 
Katharine  —  I  mean  Katharine  Lauderdale,  not 
Katharine  Ralston.  If  you  think  I'm  all  right, 
then  leave  her  alone.  She's  not  the  kind  to  come 
of  her  own  accord." 

"  All  right." 

Doctor  Routh  held  his  old  friend's  hand  for  a 
moment,  and  then  went  away.  He  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  the  nurse,  who  sat  reading  in  the 
next  room,  and  then  slowly  descended  the  stairs. 
He  was  considering  and  weighing  the  chances  of 
life  and  death,  and  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  as 
to  whether  he  should  send  for  Robert  Lauderdale's 
grand-niece  or  not.  It  was  rather  a  difficult  ques 
tion  to  solve,  for  he  knew  that  if  Katharine  ap 
peared,  the  sick  man  would  take  her  coming  for  a 


THE  RALSTONS.  29 

sign  that  Iris  condition  was  desperate,  and  the  im 
pression  might  do  him  harm.  On  the  other  hand, 
though  he  was  so  strong  and  believed  so  firmly 
that  he  was  to  live,  there  was  more  than  a  possi 
bility  that  he  might  die  that  night.  With  old 
people,  the  heart  sometimes  fails  very  suddenly. 
And  Kouth  could  not  tell  but  that  his  patient's 
wish  to  see  the  girl  might  proceed  from  some  in 
tention  on  his  part  which  should  produce  a  perma 
nent  effect  upon  her  welfare.  It  would  be  very 
hard  on  her  not  to  send  for  her,  if  her  appearance 
in  the  sick-room  were  to  be  of  any  advantage  to 
her  in  future. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  he  should  ultimately 
decide  the  matter  in  Katharine's  favour,  for  he 
liked  her  and  Mrs.  Kalston  best  of  all  the  family, 
next  to  old  Kobert  himself.  Before  he  left  the  house 
he  went  into  the  library,  which  was  on  the  ground 
floor,  to  speak  with  his  assistant,  Doctor  Chee- 
ver,  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen,  and  who  had  spent 
the  night  in  the  house.  The  latter  gave  him  an 
account  of  the  patient's  condition  during  the  last 
twelve  hours,  which  recalled  at  once  the  discourage 
ment  Doctor  Routh  had  at  first  felt  that  morning. 
Once  out  of  the  old  man's  presence,  the  personal 
impression  of  his  strength  was  less  vivid,  and  the 
danger  seemed  to  be  proportionately  magnified,  even 
in  the  mind  of  such  an  experienced  physician. 
Doctor  Kouth  had  also  more  than  once  experienced 


30  THE  RALSTON8. 

the  painful  consequences  of  having  omitted,  out  of 
sheer  hopefulness,  to  warn  people  of  a  dying  rela 
tion's  peril,  and  he  at  once  decided  to  go  to  the 
Lauderdales  himself  and  tell  them  what  he  thought 
of  the  case. 

He  drove  down  to  Clinton  Place,  and,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  he  met  Katharine  just  coming  out 
of  the  house  alone.  He  explained  the  matter  in 
half  a  dozen  words,  put  her  into  his  own  carriage 
and  sent  her  to  Robert  Lauderdale  at  once,  telling 
the  coachman  to  come  back  for  him.  Then  he  went 
in  and  saw  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  and  told  her  all  that 
was  occurring.  She  at  once  asked  him  so  many 
questions  and  required  such  clear  answers,  that  he 
forgot  to  say  anything  about  his  meeting  with 
Katharine  on  the  doorstep.  As  has  been  seen,  he 
was  no  sooner  gone  tham  Mrs.  Lauderdale  went 
down  town  to  speak  to  her  husband.  Before 
Doctor  Kouth  had  left  Clinton  Place,  Katharine 
was  sitting  at  old  Robert  Lauderdale's  bedside. 

Many  people  said  that  Katharine  had  never  been 
so  beautiful  as  she  was  that  year.  It  is  possible 
that  as  her  mother's  loveliness  began  to  fade,  her 
own  suffered  less  from  the  comparison,  for  her 
mother  had  been  supreme  in  her  way.  But  Katha 
rine  was  a  great  contrast  to  her.  Katharine  had 
her  father's  regular  features,  and  his  natural, 
healthy  pallor,  and  her  eyes  were  grey  like  his. 
But  there  the  resemblance  ceased.  Where  her 


THE  RALSTONS.  31 

father's  face  was  hard  as  a  medal  engraved  in 
steel,  hers  was  soft  and  delicate  as  moulded  moon 
light.  Instead  of  his  even,  steel-trap  mouth,  she 
had  lips  of  that  indescribable  hue  which  is  only 
found  with  dark  complexions — not  rosy  red,  nor 
exactly  salmon-pink,  and  yet  with  something  of  the 
colouring  of  both,  and  a  tone  of  its  own  besides. 
Her  black  hair  made  no  ringlets  on  her  forehead, 
and  she  did  not  torture  it  against  its  nature.  It 
separated  in  broad,  natural  waves,  and  she  wore  it 
as  it  chose  to  grow.  She  had  broad,  black  eye 
brows.  They  make  even  a  meek  face  look  strong, 
and  in  strong  faces  they  give  a  stronger  power  of 
expression,  and  under  certain  conditions  can  lend 
both  tenderness  and  pathos  to  the  eyes  they  over 
shadow. 

In  figure,  Katharine  was  tall  and  strong,  well- 
grown,  neither  slight  nor  heavy.  In  this,  too,  she 
was  like  her  father,  who  had  been  an  athlete  in  his 
day,  and  still,  at  fifty  years,  was  a  splendid  speci 
men  of  manhood,  though  he  was  growing  thinner 
and  smaller  than  he  had  been.  His  daughter 
moved  like  him,  deliberately,  with  that  grace  which 
is  the  result  of  good  proportion  and  easily  applied 
strength,  direct  and  unconscious  of  effort.  Katha 
rine  may,  perhaps,  have  been  aware  of  her  advan 
tages  in  this  respect.  At  all  events,  she  dressed 
so  simply  that  the  colour  and  material  of  what  she 
wore  never  attracted  a  stranger's  eye  so  soon  as 


32  THE  RALSTONS. 

her  figure  and  presence.  Then  he  might  discover 
that  her  frock  was  of  plain  grey  homespun,  ex 
ceedingly  well  made,  indeed,  but  quite  without 
superfluity  in  the  way  of  ornament. 

Long-limbed,  easy  and  graceful  as  a  thorough 
bred,  she  entered  the  white  room  and  stooped 
down  to  kiss  the  old  man's  pale  forehead.  His 
sunken  blue  eyes  looked  up  at  her  as  his  hand 
sought  hers,  and  she  was  shocked  at  the  change  in 
his  appearance.  She  sat  down,  still  holding  his 
hand,  and  leaned  back,  looking  at  him. 

"  You've  been  very  ill,  uncle  Robert,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  better." 

"  Did  Routh  tell  you  I  was  better  ?  "  asked  the 
old  man,  and  his  gruff,  hoarse  voice  startled  Katha 
rine  a  little. 

"  Not  exactly  getting  well  —  but  well  enough  to 
see  people,"  she  answered.  "That's  a  good  deal, 
you  know." 

"  I  should  want  to  see  you,  even  if  I  were  dying," 
said  Robert  Lauderdale,  pressing  her  hand  with 
his  great  fingers. 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  dear !  A  lover  couldn't  say 
it  more  prettily."  She  smiled  and  returned  the 
pressure. 

"Jack  Ralston  could — for  your  ears,  my  dear." 

"  Ah  —  Jack  —  perhaps  ! " 

A  very  gentle  shadow  seemed  to  descend  upon 
Katharine's  face,  veiling  her  heart's  thoughts  and 


THE  RALSTONS.  33 

hiding  her  real  expression,  though  she  did  not  turn 
her  eyes  away  from  the  old  man.  A  short  silence 
followed. 

"  I  hear  that  Jack  is  doing  very  well/7  he  said,  at 
last.  "  Jack's  a  good  fellow  at  heart,  Katharine. 
I  think  he's  forgiven  me  for  what  happened  last 
winter.  I  was  angry,  you  know  —  and  he  looked 
very  wild." 

"  He's  forgotten  all  about  it,  I'm  sure.  He  never 
speaks  of  it  now.  I  think  he  only  mentioned  it 
once  after  it  happened,  when  he  explained  every 
thing  to  me.  Don't  imagine  that  he  bears  you  any 
malice.  Besides — after  all  you've  done  —  " 

"  I've  done  nothing  for  him,  because  he  won't  let 
me,"  growled  Eobert  Lauderdale,  and  a  discon 
tented  look  came  into  his  face.  "  But  I'm  glad  he's 
doing  well  —  I'm  very  glad." 

"  It's  slow,  of  course,"  said  Katharine,  thought 
fully.  "  It  will  be  long  before  he  can  hope  to  be  a 
partner." 

"  Not  so  long  as  you  think,  child.  I've  been  very 
ill,  and  I  am  very  ill.  I  may  be  dead  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that !  So  may  I,  or  anybody  — 
by  an  accident  in  the  street." 

"  No,  no  !  I'm  in  earnest.  Not  that  I  care  much, 
I  think.  It's  time  to  be  going,  and  I've  had  my 
share  —  and  the  share  of  many  others,  I'm  afraid. 
Never  mind.  Never  mind  —  we  won't  talk  of  it 
any  more.  You're  so  young.  It  makes  you  sad." 

VOL.    I. 3 


34  THE   R ALSTONS. 

Again  the  two  exchanged  a  little  pressure  of 
hands,  and  there  was  silence. 

"  It  will  be  different  when  the  money  is  divided," 
said  old  Lauderdale,  at  last.  "  You'll  have  to  ac 
knowledge  your  marriage  then." 

Katharine  started  slightly.  She  had  her  back  to 
the  windows,  but  the  whiteness  of  everything  in 
the  room  threw  reflected  light  into  her  face,  and  the 
blush  that  very  rarely  came  spread  all  over  it  in  an 
instant. 

Only  four  living  persons  knew  that  she  had  been 
secretly  married  to  John  Ralston  during  the  win 
ter  ;  namely,  John  and  herself,  the  clergyman  who 
had  married  them,  and  Kobert  Lauderdale.  At 
that  time  she  had  with  great  difficulty  persuaded 
John  to  go  through  the  ceremony,  hoping  thereby 
to  force  her  uncle  into  rinding  her  husband  some 
congenial  occupation  in  the  West.  Half  an  hour 
after  taking  the  decisive  step,  she  had  come  to 
Kobert  Lauderdale  with  her  story,  and  he  had 
demonstrated  to  her  that  John's  only  path  to 
success  lay  through  the  office  of  a  banker  or  a 
lawyer,  and  John  had  then  returned  to  Beman 
Brothers,  after  refusing  to  accept  a  large  sum  of 
money,  with  which  old  Lauderdale  had  proposed 
to  make  him  independent.  He  had  not  been 
willing  to  give  his  uncle  the  smallest  chance  of 
thinking  that  he  had  married  Katharine  as  a  begging 
speculator,  nor  had  the  old  gentleman  succeeded  in 


THE  EALSTONS.  35 

making  him  change  his  mind  since  then.  Nor  had 
he  referred  to  the  marriage  when  speaking  with 
Katharine,  except  on  one  or  two  occasions,  when  it 
had  seemed  absolutely  necessary  to  do  so.  And 
now  that  he  had  spoken  of  it,  he  saw  the  burning 
blush  and  did  not  understand  it.  Women  had 
entered  little  into  his  long  life.  He  fancied  that 
he  had  hurt  her,  and  was  very  sorry.  The  great 
hand  closed  slowly,  as  though  with  an  effort,  upon 
the  white  young  fingers. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  pain  you,  my  dear ;  forgive 
me,"  he  said,  simply. 

Katharine  looked  at  him  with  a  little  surprise, 
and  the  blush  instantly  disappeared.  Then  she 
laughed  softly  and  bent  forward  with  a  quick 
movement. 

"  You  didn't,  uncle  dear  !  You  didn't  pain  me  in 
the  least.  It's  only  —  sometimes  I  don't  quite 
realize  that  I'm  Jack's  wife.  When  I  do  —  like 
that,  just  now — it  makes  me  happy.  That's  all." 

Eobert  Lauderdale  looked  at  her,  tried  to  under 
stand,  failed,  and  nodded  his  big  head  kindly  but 
vacantly. 

"Well — I'm  glad,"  he  said.  "But  you  see,  my 
dear  child,  when  John's  a  rich  man,  you  can  ac 
knowledge  your  marriage,  and  have  a  house  of  your 
own.  You  really  must,  and  of  course  you  will. 
John  can't  refuse  to  take  his  share.  We  never 
quarrelled,  that  I  know  of,  but  that  once,  last  win- 


36  THE  BALSTONS. 

ter,  and  you  say  he  has  forgotten  that.  Has  he  ? 
Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

Katharine  nodded  quickly  and  a  whispered 
'yes'  just  parted  her  fresh  lips.  In  her  eyes  there 
was  a  gentle,  almost  entreating  look,  as  though 
she  besought  him  to  believe  her. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  and  he  spoke  very  slowly  — 
"well  —  Pin  glad.  He  can't  refuse  to  take  his 
share  when  I'm  dead  and  gone  —  his  fair  share  and 
no  more."  He  paused  for  some  seconds.  "  Katha 
rine,"  he  said,  very  earnestly,  at  last,  "  there's  a 
great  deal  of  money  to  be  divided  amongst  you  all. 
Many  of  them  want  it.  They'll  all  have  some  — 
perhaps  more  than  they  expect.  There's  a  great 
deal  of  money,  child." 

"Yes,  I  know  there  is,"  answered  Katharine, 
quietly. 

"When  I'm  gone  they'll  say  that  the  old  man 
was  richer  than  they  thought  he  was.  I  can  hear 
them  —  I've  heard  it  so  often  about  other  men ! 
'  Just  guess  how  much  old  Bob  Lauderdale  left,' 
they'll  say.  ' Nearly  eighty-two  millions!  Who'd 
have  thought  it !  '  That's  what  the  men  will  be 
saying  to  each  other.  Eighty  millions  is  a  vast 
amount  of  money,  child.  You  can't  guess  how 
much  it  is." 

"Eighty  millions."  Katharine  repeated  the 
stupendous  words  softly,  as  though  trying  to  real 
ize  their  meaning. 


THE  RALSTONS.  37 

"No  —  you  can't  understand."  The  old  man's 
eyes  closed  wearily.  A  few  moments  later  they 
opened  again,  and  he  smiled  at  her. 

"  How  did  you  ever  manage  to  make  so  much  ?  " 
she  asked,  smiling,  too,  and  with  a  look  of  wonder. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  great  millionaire, 
as  simply  as  a  child.  "I  worked  hard  at  first, 
and  I  saved  small  things  for  a  purpose.  My  father 
was  rich  —  in  those  days.  He  left  us  each  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Your  uncle 
Alexander  gave  it  to  the  poor  —  as  much  of  it  as 
the  poor  did  not  take  without  asking  his  leave. 
Ralph  spent  some  of  it,  and  left  the  rest  to  Kath 
arine  Ralston  when  he  was  killed  in  the  war.  I 
saved  mine.  It  seemed  good  to  have  money.  And 
then  it  came  —  it  came  —  somehow.  I  was  lucky  — 
fortunate  investments  in  land.  I  ran  after  it  till  I 
was  forty-five ;  then  it  began  to  run  after  me,  and 
it's  outrun  me,  every  time.  But  I  wasn't  a  miser, 
Katharine.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  was 
mean  and  miserly  when  I  was  young.  You  don't, 
do  you,  my  dear  ?  " 

"No,  indeed!"  Katharine  gave  the  answer 
readily  enough.  "But,  uncle  Robert,  aren't  you 
talking  too  much  ?  Doctor  Routh  said  you  were 
not  to  —  that  it  might  hurt  you.  And  your  voice 
is  so  hoarse  !  I  am  sure  it  can't  be  good  for  you." 

The  old  man  patted  her  hand  laboriously,  for  he 
was  very  weak. 


38  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  I  want  my  talk  out,"  he  said.  "  It  doesn't 
matter  much  whether  it  hurts  me.  A  year  or  two, 
more  or  less,  when  I've  had  it  all,  everything,  and 
so  long.  I'm  tired,  my  child,  though  when  I  am 
well  I  look  so  strong.  It  isn't  only  strength  that's 
needed  to  live  with.  It  takes  more." 

"But  there  are  other  things  —  there  is  so  much 
in  your  life  —  so  many  people.  There  are  all  of 
us.  Don't  you  care  to  live  for  our  sakes  —  just  a 
little,  uncle  ?  " 

"  If  they  were  all  like  you  —  more  like  you  — 
well,  I  might.  I'm  very  fond  of  you,  Katharine. 
You  know  it,  don't  you  ?  Yes.  That's  why  I  sent 
for  you.  I  don't  believe  I'm  going  to  die  —  I  told 
Routh  so  half  an  hour  ago.  But  I  might  —  I  may. 
I  didn't  want  to  go  over  without  having  had  my 
talk  out  with  you.  That's  it.  I  want  to  have 
my  talk  out  with  you.  I  should  be  sorry  to  slip 
away  without  seeing  you.  There  are  things  — 
things  that  come  into  my  head  when  I'm  alone  — 
and  I've  been  alone  a  great  deal  in  my  life.  Oh, 
I  could  have  married,  if  I  had  liked.  Queens 
would  have  married  me  —  queer,  little,  divorced 
queens  from  out-of-the-way  little  kingdoms,  you 
know.  But  I  didn't  want  to  be  married  for  my 
money,  and  there  were  no  Katharine  Lauderdales 
when  I  was  young."  4 

Again,  with  an  unsteady,  laboured  movement, 
the  old  hand  caressed  the  young  one  as  it  lay  on 


THE  E ALSTONS.  39 

the  soft,  white,  knitted  Shetland  shawl  which  cov 
ered  the  bed,  and  again  Katharine  smiled  affec 
tionately  and  laughed  gently  at  the  flattery.  Then 
all  was  quiet.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  think 
ing —  the  aged  head  rested  on  the  white  pillow, 
thinking. 

"  Katharine,"  —  the  eyes  opened  again,  —  "  what 
does  it  all  mean,  child  ?  " 

"What?"  asked  the  young  girl,  meeting  him 
again  out  of  her  reverie. 

«  Life." 

"  Ah  —  if  I  knew  that  —  " 

"You're  at  the  beginning  of  it — I'm  at  the  end 
—  almost,  or  quite,  it  doesn't  matter.  What's  the 
meaning  of  all  those  things  I've  done,  and  which 
you're  going  to  do  ?  They  must  mean  something. 
I  ought  to  have  got  at  the  meaning  in  so  many 
years." 

Katharine  was  silent.  Of  late,  she,  too,  had 
heard  the  great  question  asked,  which  rattles  in 
the  throat  of  the  dying  century,  and  is  to-day 
in  the  ears  of  all,  whether  they  desire  to  hear  it 
or  not.  And  no  man  has  answered  it  yet.  A  year 
earlier  Katharine  would  have  said  but  one  word 
in  reply.  She  could  not  say  it  now. 

In  the  still,  white  room  she  sat  by  the  old  man's 
side  and  bowed  her  head  silently. 

"  It's  puzzled  me  a  great  deal,"  he  said,  at  last, 
in  his  familiar  speech.  "  So  long  as  I  cared  for 


40  THE  RALSTON 8. 

things,  —  money,  principally,  I  suppose,  —  it  didn't 
puzzle  me  at  all.  It  all  seemed  quite  natural. 
But  when  I  got  worn  out  inside  —  used  up  with 
the  wear  and  tear  of  having  too  much  —  well,  then 
I  couldn't  care  for  things  any  more,  and  I  began  to 
think.  And  it's  all  a  puzzle,  Katharine.  It's  all  a 
puzzle.  We  find  it  all  in  bits  when  we  come, 
taken  to  pieces  by  the  people  who  have  just  gone. 
We  spend  all  our  lives  in  trying  to  put  the  thing 
together  on  some  theory  of  our  own,  and  in  the 
end  we  give  it  up,  and  go  to  sleep  — '  perchance  to 
dream'  —  that's  Hamlet,  isn't  it?  But  I  never 
dreamt  much.  If  it's  anything,  it  isn't  a  dream. 
Well,  then,  what  is  it  ?  " 

Katharine  looked  up  at  him  with  a  little,  half- 
childish  glance  of  wonder. 

"  Why,  uncle  Robert,"  she  said,  "  I  always 
thought  you  were  a  religious  man  —  like  papa, 
you  know." 

"  No."  The  old  man  smiled  faintly.  "  I'm  not 
like  your  father.  I  fancy  I'm  more  like  you — in 
some  ways.  Aren't  you  religious,  as  you  call  it, 
my  dear  ?  " 

"I'm  religious,  as  I  call  it — but  not  as  'they' 
call  it."  She  laughed  a  little,  perhaps  at  herself. 
"  I  seem  to  see  something,  and  I  believe  in  it, 
without  quite  seeing  it.  Oh,  I  can't  explain ! 
I've  tried  so  often,  but  it's  quite  hopeless." 

"  Try  again,"  said  old  Lauderdale.     "  It   can't 


THE  RALSTONS.  41 

do  any  harm,  and  it  may  do  me  good.  Fm  so 
lonely." 

Katharine  was  perhaps  too  young  to  understand 
that  loneliness,  but  the  look  in  the  sunken  blue 
eyes  touched  her.  She  rose  and  bent  over  him, 
and  kissed  the  pale,  wrinkled  forehead  twice. 

"  It's  our  fault  —  the  fault  of  all  us,"  she  said, 
sinking  into  her  seat  again. 

"  No ;  it's  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  didn't  want 
you  all,  and  I  couldn't  have  the  ones  I  wanted. 
It  doesn't  matter  now.  I  want  to  hear  you  talk. 
Try  and  tell  me  what  you  think  it  all  means, 
from  your  end  of  life.  I've  forgotten  —  it's  so 
long  ago." 

He  sighed,  then  coughed,  raising  himself  a  little, 
and  then  sank  back  upon  his  pillow  and  closed  his 
eyes,  as  though  to  listen. 

"  People  say  so  many  things,"  Katharine  began. 
"  Perhaps  that's  the  trouble.  One  hears  so  much 
that  disturbs  one's  belief,  and  one  hears  nothing 
that  settles  it  in  any  new  way.  That's  what  hap 
pens  to  every  one.  In  trying  to  rind  reasons  for 
things,  people  ruin  the  things  themselves  with 
the  tools  they  use.  You  can't  find  out  the  reason 
of  a  flower  —  certainly  not  by  sticking  the  point 
of  a  steel  knife  into  it  and  cutting  the  heart  out. 
You  can  see  how  it's  made  —  that's  science.  But 
the  reason  of  its  being  a  flower  has  nothing  to  do 
with  science.  If  it  had,  science  would  find  it  out, 


42  THE  RALSTONS. 

because  science  can  do  anything  possible  in  its  own 
line.  But  it's  always  the  steel  knife  —  always, 
always.  You  can't  tell  why  things  exist,  by  taking 
them  to  pieces,  can  you  ?  " 

"No  —  no — that's  it."  The  old  man  turned  his 
head  slowly  from  side  to  side.  Then  it  trembled  a 
little  and  lay  still  again.  "And  the  short  cut  is 
to  say  there  is  no  reason  for  things — that  they're 
all  accidents,  by  selection." 

"  Yes  ;  that's  the  short  cut,  as  you  say,"  an 
swered  Katharine.  "  The  trouble  is  that  when 
we've  taken  it,  if  we  don't  want  to  go  back,  we 
ought  to  want  to  go  on  to  the  end.  Nobody  will 
do  that.  They  meet  you  with  a  moral  right  and 
wrong,  after  denying  that  there's  a  ground  for 
morality.  I  know  —  I've  talked  with  a  great  many 
people  this  winter.  It's  very  funny,  if  you  listen 
to  them  from  any  one  point  of  view,  no  matter 
which.  Then  they  all  seem  to  be  mad.  But  if 
one  listens  .inside,  —  with  one's  self,  I  mean,  — 
it's  different.  It  hurts,  then.  It  would  break 
my  heart  to  believe  that  I  had  no  soul,  as  some 
people  do.  Better  believe  that  one  has  one's  own 
to  begin  with,  and  the  fragments  of  a  dozen  others 
clinging  to  it  besides,  than  to  have  none  at  all." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  opening  his 
eyes  with  a  look  of  interest.  "  What's  that  about 
fragments  of  other  people's  souls  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  it's  what  some  people  say.     I  got  it  from 


THE  R ALSTONS.  43 

Mr.  Griggs.  Of  course  it's  nonsense  —  at  least  — 
I  don't  know.  It's  the  one  idea  that  appeals  to 
one  —  that  we  go  on  living  over  and  over  again. 
And  he  says  that  in  that  theory  there's  an  original 
self,  sometimes  dormant,  sometimes  dominant,  but 
which  goes  on  forever  —  or  indefinitely,  at  least; 
and  then  that  fragments  of  the  other  personalities, 
of  the  people  we  have  lived  with  in  a  former 
state,  better  or  worse  than  the  original  self,  fasten 
themselves  on  our  own  self,  and  influence  its 
doings,  and  may  put  it  to  sleep,  and  may  eat  it  up 
altogether  —  and  that's  why  we  don't  always  seem 
to  ourselves  to  be  the  same  person.  But  I  can't 
begin  to  remember  it  all.  You  should  get  Mr. 
Griggs  to  talk  about  it.  He's  very  interesting." 

"It's  a  curious  theory,"  said  old  Lauderdale, 
evidently  disappointed.  "It's  an  ingenious  ex 
planation,  but  it  isn't  a  reason.  Explanations 
aren't  reasons  —  I  mean,  they're  not  causes." 

"No,"  answered  Katharine,  "of  course  they're 
not.  The  belief  is  the  cause,  I  suppose." 

The  sick  man  glanced  at  her  keenly  and  then 
closed  his  eyes  once  more.  Katharine  rose  quietly 
and  went  to  the  windows  to  draw  down  the  shades 
a  little. 

"  Don't ! "  cried  Lauderdale,  sharply,  in  his 
hoarse  voice.  "  I  like  the  light.  It's  all  the  light 
I  have." 

Katharine  came  back  and  sat  down  beside  him 
again. 


44  THE  RALSTONS. 

"I  wasn't  going  to  sleep,"  he  said,  presently. 
"  I  was  thinking  of  what  you  had  said,  that  belief 
was  the  cause.  Well — if  I  believe  in  God,  I 
must  ask,  '  Do  mine  quo  vadis  ? '  —  mustn't  I  ?  You 
know  enough  Latin  to  understand  that.  What  do 
you  answer  ?  " 

"Tendit  ad  astra." 

It  was  one  of  those  quick  replies  which  any 
girl  who  knew  a  few  Latin  phrases  might  easily 
make.  But  it  struck  the  ears  of  the  man  whose 
strength  was  far  spent.  He  raised  his  hands  a 
little,  and  brought  them  together  with  a  strangely 
devout  gesture. 

"To  the  stars,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  and  his 
eyes  looked  upwards. 

Katharine  rested  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  lean 
ing  forwards  and  watching  him.  An  expression 
passed  over  his  face  which  she  had  never  seen, 
though  she  had  read  of  the  mysterious  brightness 
which  sometimes  illuminates  the  features  of  dying 
persons.  She  thought  it  must  be  that,  and  she 
was  suddenly  afraid,  yet  fascinated.  But  she  was 
mistaken.  It  was  only  a  gleam  of  hope.  Words 
can  mean  so  much  more  than  the  things  they  name. 

And  a  dream-like  interpretation  of  the  two  Latin 
phrases  suggested  itself  to  her.  It  was  as  though, 
looking  at  the  venerable  and  just  man  who  was 
departing,  she  had  asked  of  him,  'Sir,  whither  goest 
thou  ? '  And  as  though  a  voice  had  answered  her, 


THE   EALSTONS.  45 

'Starwards' —  and  as  though  her  own  eyes  might 
be  those  stars  —  the  stars  of  youth  and  life  — 
from  which  he  had  come  long  ago  and  to  which  he 
was  even  now  returning,  to  take  new  childish 
strength  and  to  live  again  through  the  years. 
Then  he  spoke,  and  the  dream  vanished. 

"  I  believe  in  Something,"  he  said.    "  Call  it  God, 
child,  and  let  me  pray  to  It,  and  die  in  peace." 


CHAPTER   III. 

KATHARINE  said  nothing,  not  knowing  what  to 
say.  During  what  seemed  to  her  a  long  time,  old 
Lauderdale  lay  quite  still.  Then  he  seemed  to 
rouse  himself,  and  as  he  turned  his  head  he 
coughed  painfully. 

"  I  want  you  to  know  how  I've  left  the  money," 
he  said  abruptly,  when  he  had  recovered  his  breath. 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  know  ?  "  asked  Katha 
rine,  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes  —  I  don't  know  whether  you  ought  —  no. 
But  I  want  you  to  know.  I've  confidence  in  your 
judgment,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  uncle  Robert!  As  though  your  own  were 
not  a  thousand  times  better  ! " 

"  In  matters  of  business  it  may  be.  But  this  is 
quite  another  thing.  You  see,  there  are  a  good 
many  who  ought  to  have  a  share,  and  a  good  many 
who  expect  some  of  it,  whether  they  have  any 
claim  or  not.  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  I've 
acted  fairly  by  everybody.  Will  you  tell  me, 
quite  honestly  ?  Nobody  else  would  —  except 
Katharine  Ralston,  perhaps." 
46 


THE  EALSTONS.  47 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  made  the  judge  of  your 
actions,  dear  uncle  Kobert ! "  protested  Katharine. 

"Well  —  make  a  sacrifice,  then,  and  do  some 
thing  you  don't  like,"  answered  the  old  man, 
gruffly. 

It  would  have  pleased  Doctor  Kouth  to  see  how 
soon  his  temper  rose  at  the  merest  sign  of  opposi 
tion. 

"Well  —  tell  me,  then,"  said  Katharine,  reluc 
tantly. 

"  It's  a  simple  will,"  began  the  old  man,  and  then 
he  paused,  as  though  reflecting  upon  it.  "  Well 

—  you  see,"  lie  continued,  presently,  "I  argued  in 
this  way.     I  said  to  myself  that  the  money  ought 
either   to   go   back   to   its    original   source  —  I've 
thought   a  great   deal   about   that,   too,  and   I've 
made  sketches  of  wills  leaving  everything  to  the 
poor,  in  a  big  trust  —  I  suppose  every  rich  man 
has  made  rough  sketches  of  queer  wills   at  one 
time    or    another."      He    paused    a   moment    and 
seemed  to  be  thinking.     "  Yes,"  he  resumed,  pres 
ently,  "  either  it  should  go  back  to  the  people,  or 
else  it  ought  to  go  amongst  the  Lauderdales,  as 
directly  as  possible.     Now  there's  my  brother,  first 

—  your  grandfather.     He's  older   than  I  am,  but 
he's  careless  and  foolish  about  money.     He'd  give 
it  all  away — better  leave  something  to  his  asylums 
and  things,  and  give  him  an  income  but  no  capital. 
He  doesn't   want   anything   for   himself  —  he's  a 


48  THE  RALSTONS. 

good  man,  and  I  wish  I  were  like  him.  Then 
there's  your  father,  next,  and  Katharine  Ralston 
—  my  nephew  and  niece.  They  don't  want  a  lot 
of  money,  either,  do  they  ?  " 

Katharine's  eyes  expressed  a  little  astonishment 
in  spite  of  herself,  and  the  old  man  saw  it.  He 
hesitated  a  while,  coughed,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
then  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"  It's  been  my  opinion  for  a  long  time,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "that  your  father  has  a  good  deal  of  his 
own." 

"Papa!"  exclaimed  Katharine.  " Why  —  he 
always  says  he's  so  poor !  You  don't  know  how 
economical  he  is,  and  makes  us  be.  I'm  sure  he 
can't  be  rich." 

"  Eich  —  h'm  —  that's  a  relative  expression  now 
adays.  He's  not  rich,  compared  with  me  —  but  he 
has  enough,  he  has  quite  enough." 

"  Oh  —  enough  —  yes,"  answered  the  young  girl. 
"  The  house  is  comfortable,  and  we  have  plenty 
to  eat."  She  laughed  a  little.  "  But  as  for  clothes, 
you  know  —  well,  if  my  mother  didn't  sell  her 
miniatures,  I  don't  know  exactly  what  she  and  I 
should  do  —  nor  what  Charlotte  would  have  done, 
before  she  was  married." 

Kobert  Lauderdale  looked  at  her  intently  for 
several  seconds. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  at  length, 
"  that  when  your  dear  mother  sells  her  little  paint- 


THE  E ALSTONS.  49 

ings,  it's  to  get  money  for  her  and  you  to  dress 
on?" 

«  Yes  —  of  course.     What  did  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  was  for  her  small  charities,"  he 
answered,  bending  his  rough  brows  with  an  expres 
sion  of  mingled  pain  and  anger.  "  It  seemed  to  me 
a  good  thing  that  she  should  have  that  interest.  If 
I'd  known  that  your  father  kept  you  all  so  close— 

"  But  I  really  think  he's  poor,  uncle  Kobert." 

"  Poor !  Nonsense !  He's  got  a  million,  any 
way.  I  know  it.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that  — 
as  though  you  didn't  believe  me.  I  tell  you,  I 
know  it.  I  don't  know  how  much  more  he  has, 
but  he's  got  that." 

He  moved  restlessly  on  his  side,  with  more 
energy  than  he  had  yet  shown,  for  he  was  growing 
angry. 

"There's  some  money  in  the  drawer  of  that 
little  table,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his  hand,  which 
trembled  a  little.  "It's  open  —  just  get  what 
there  is  and  bring  it  here,  will  you  ?  " 

Katharine  rose. 

"I  don't  want  any  money,  if  you  mean  to  give 
it  to  me,"  she  said,  as  she  crossed  the  room. 

She  brought  him  a  roll  of  bills. 

"  Count  it,"  he  said. 

She  counted  carefully,  turning  back  the  crisp 
green  notes  over  her  delicate  fingers.  It  was  new 
money. 

VOL.    I.  4 


50  THE  R ALSTONS. 

"  There  are  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars/'  she 
said.  "  At  least,  I  think  I've  counted  right." 

"Near  enough.  Make  a  note  of  it,  my  dear. 
There  are  pencil  and  paper  on  the  table.  There 
—  just  write  down  the  figure.  Now  put  the  money 
into  your  pocket,  and  go  and  spend  it  on  some 
trifle." 

"  I'd  rather  not,"  answered  Katharine,  hesitating. 

She  had  never  had  so  much  money  in  her  hand 
in  her  whole  life,  though  she  was  the  grand-niece 
of  Robert  the  Rich. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you ! "  cried  the  old  man,  almost 
fiercely,  and  in  a  much  stronger  voice  than  he  had 
been  able  to  find  hitherto. 

Katharine  obeyed,  seeing  that  he  was  really 
losing  his  temper. 

"You  may  as  well  spend  it  on  toys  as  leave  it 
to  the  servants,"  he  said.  "  They'd  have  stolen  it 
as  soon  as  I  was  dead.  Not  that  I  mean  to  die, 
though.  Not  till  I've  settled  one  or  two  things 
like  this.  I  feel  stronger." 

"  I'm  so  glad  ! "  exclaimed  Katharine. 

"So  am  I,"  growled  the  sick  man.  "You've 
saved  my  life." 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  child.  Go  and  tell  Routh  that  I  said  so. 
Upon  my  word ! "  he  grumbled,  half  audibly. 
"  Selling  her  poor  little  miniatures  to  buy  clothes 
for  herself  and  her  children  —  my  nieces  —  that's 


THE  E ALSTONS.  51 

just  a  little  too  much,  you  know  —  can't  see  how 
I  could  die  decently  —  well  —  without  telling  him 
what  I  think  about  it.  Katharine,"  he  said,  more 
loudly,  addressing  her,  "  it  amounts  to  this.  I've 
left  a  few  charities,  and  I've  left  the  Miners  a 
little  something  to  make  them  comfortable,  and 
I've  given  a  million  to  the  Brights  —  Hamilton  and 
Hester  and  their  mother  —  and  I've  left  the  rest 
to  you  three  young  ones  —  you  and  Charlotte  and 
Jack  Ralston.  That  ought  to  make  about  twenty- 
five  millions  for  each  of  you.  I  want  to  know  if 
you  think  I've  done  right  ?  " 

Katharine's  hands  dropped  by  her  side.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  was  literally  struck  dumb. 

"That  doesn't  mean,"  continued  the  old  man, 
watching  her  keenly,  as  the  light  came  back  to  his 
eyes,  "that  doesn't  mean  that  I  give  you  all  that 
money,  just  as  I  gave  you  that  roll  of  bills  just 
now.  It's  all  tied  up  in  trusts,  just  as  far  as  the  law 
would  allow  me  to  do  it.  You  couldn't  take  it  and 
throw  it  into  the  street,  nor  speculate,  nor  buy  a 
railway,  nor  do  anything  of  the  kind.  You  and 
Charlotte  will  have  to  pay  half  your  income  to 
your  father  and  mother  while  they  live,  and  you'll 
have  to  leave  it  to  your  children — at  least,  Char 
lotte  must,  and  I  hope  you  will,  my  dear.  And 
Jack  must  give  half  of  his  income  to  his  mother. 
You  see,  as  there  are  three  parents,  that  will  make 
it  exactly  equal.  And  all  three  of  you  have  to 


52  THE  RALSTONS. 

pay  something  to  make  up  an  income  for  your 
grandfather.  So  it  will  still  be  equally  shared.  I 
like  you  best,  my  dear,  but  I  couldn't  show  any 
favouritism  in  my  will.  The  end  of  it  will  be  that 
you  will  each  have  something  less  than  half  the 
income  of  twenty-five  millions  to  spend.  That's 
better  than  selling  miniatures  to  buy  clothes,  any 
way.  Isn't  it,  now  ?  " 

He  laughed  hoarsely  and  then  coughed. 

"  Go  home,  child,"  he  said,  presently.  "  I've 
talked  too  much.  Stop,  though.  What  I've  told 
you  is  not  to  be  repeated  on  any  account.  I  wanted 
to  know  what  you  thought  of  the  right  and  wrong 
of  the  thing  —  but  I've  taken  your  breath  away. 
Go  home  and  think  about  it.  Come  and  see  me 
day  after  to-morrow  —  there,  I  shouldn't  have  said 
that  an  hour  ago  —  give  me  a  little  of  that  beef 
tea,  please,  my  dear.  I'm  hungry  —  and  I'd  rather 
have  it  from  your  hand  than  from  Mrs.  Deems's. 
Thank  you." 

He  drank  eagerly,  and  she  took  the  cup  from 
him  and  set  it  down  again. 

"  She's  .a  good  creature,  the  nurse,"  he  said.  "A 
very  good  creature  —  a  sort  of  holy  scarecrow.  I 
shan't  need  her  much  longer." 

"You  really  do  seem  better,"  said  Katharine, 
wondering  how  she  could  ever  have  believed  that 
he  was  dying. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  well  this  time.     I  told  Routh 


THE  EALSTONS.  53 

this  morning  that  I  wasn't  going  to  die.  You've 
saved  my  life.  There's  nothing  like  rage  for  the 
action  of  the  heart,  I  believe.  I  shall  be  out  next 
week." 

He  began  to  cough  again. 

"Go  home  —  go  home,"  he  managed  to  say, 
between  the  short  spasms.  "  I'm  talking  too 
much." 

Katharine  bent  down  and  kissed  his  forehead 
quickly,  looked  at  him  affectionately  and  left  the 
room,  for  she  saw  that  what  he  said  was  true.  She 
closed  the  door  softly  and  found  her  way  to  the 
stairs.  She  was  in  haste  to  get  out  into  the  air 
and  to  be  alone,  for  she  wished,  if  possible,  to 
realize  the  stupendous  possibilities  of  life  which 
the  last  few  minutes  had  brought  into  her  range  of 
mental  vision.  It  was  not  a  light  thing  to  have 
been  told  that  she  was  one  day  to  be  among  the 
richest  of  her  very  rich  acquaintances,  after  having 
been  brought  up  in  such  a  penurious  fashion. 

In  the  hall  she  came  suddenly  upon  her  father 
and  mother,  who  were  parleying  with  the  butler. 

"Here's  Miss  Katharine,  sir,"  said  the  servant, 
and  he  immediately  fell  back,  glad  to  avoid  further 
discussion  with  such  a  very  obstinate  person  as 
Alexander  Junior. 

"Why,  Katharine!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
in  surprise.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you're  here  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  didn't  you  know  ?     Doctor  Routh  sent 


54  THE  EALSTONS. 

me  up  in  his  carriage.  He  met  me  on  the  steps 
just  as  he  was  going  in  to  see  you.  Didn't  he  tell 
you  ?  " 

"  No  —  how  very  extraordinary  ! " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale's  face  assumed  a  grave  expres 
sion  not  untinged  with  displeasure. 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  said  her  husband.  "  And 
Leek  has  just  been  telling  us  that  uncle  Robert 
could  see  no  one." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  butler,  coming  for 
ward  respectfully.  "  There  were  orders  that  when 
Miss  Katharine  came,  Mr.  Lauderdale  was  not  to 
be  disturbed." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Alexander  Junior,  coldly.  "  I 
understand.  Come,  Emma  —  come,  Katharine  — 
we  shall  be  late  for  luncheon." 

"  It  isn't  half-past  twelve  yet,"  observed  Katha 
rine,  glancing  at  the  great  old  clock,  which  at  that 
moment  gave  '  warning '  of  the  coming  chime  for 
the  half-hour. 

"  It's  of  no  consequence  what  time  it  is,"  said 
her  father,  more  coldly  than  ever.  "  Come  ! " 

They  went  out  together,  and  the  door  closed 
behind  them.  Alexander  Lauderdale  stood  still 
upon  the  pavement  and  faced  his  daughter,  with  a 
peculiarly  hard  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  does  this  all  mean,  Katharine  ? "  he 
enquired,  severely.  "  Your  mother  and  I  desire 
some  explanation." 


THE  RALSTONS.  55 

"  There's  nothing  to  explain,"  answered  the 
young  girl.  "  Uncle  Robert  wanted  to  see  me, 
and  Doctor  Routh  told  me  so,  and  was  kind 
enough  to  send  me  up  in  his  carriage.  I  was 
coming  away  when  I  met  you.  There's  nothing 
to  explain." 

Alexander  Junior  very  nearly  lost  his  temper. 
He  could  not  recollect  having  done  so  since  he  had 
refused  to  accept  John  Ralston  as  his  son-in-law, 
nearly  eighteen  months  ago.  But  his  steely  grey 
eyes  began  to  gleam  now,  and  his  clear,  pale  skin 
grew  paler.  It  was  evident  that  his  mind  was 
working  rapidly  in  a  direction  which  Katharine 
could  not  understand. 

"I  wish  to  know  what  he  said  to  you,"  he 
replied. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  "  asked  Katharine, 
unwisely,  for  she  herself  was  agitated. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  know,"  answered  her  father, 
peremptorily. 

It  was  unlike  him  to  go  to  such  lengths  of  insist 
ence  at  once,  and  even  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  sur 
prised,  and  glanced  at  him  somewhat  timidly. 

"  Shall  we  walk  on  ?  "  she  suggested.  "  I'm 
cold  —  there's  a  chilly  wind  from  the  corner." 

They  began  to  move,  Alexander  Junior  walking 
between  them,  with  Katharine  on  his  left.  She 
did  not  reply  to  his  last  speech  at  once,  and  his 
anger  rose. 


56       .  THE  RALSTONS. 

"When  I  speak  to  you,  Katharine,  I  expect  to 
be  answered,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  replied  Katharine,  coolly.  "I  was  think 
ing  of  what  I  should  say." 

She  had  been  taken  unawares,  and  found  it  hard 
to  decide  how  to  act.  She  thought  he  was  angry 
because  he  suspected  her  of  trying  to  influence  the 
old  millionaire  to  do  something  which  might  facili 
tate  her  marriage  with  John  Kalston,  little  guess 
ing  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  church  and  the  law  she 
was  married  already.  So  far  as  revealing  anything 
about  the  dispositions  of  her  great-uncle's  will  might 
be  concerned,  she  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  saying  anything  about  it,  nor  of  even  hinting 
that  he  had  spoken  of  it.  She  was  capable  of  quite 
as  much  obstinacy  as  her  father,  and  she  was  far 
more  intelligent ;  but  she  disliked  a  quarrel  of  any 
sort,  and  yet,  placed  as  she  was,  she  could  not  see 
how  to  avoid  one,  if  he  continued  to  insist.  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  saw  that  trouble  was  imminent,  and 
tried  to  come  to  the  rescue. 

"  How  did  he  seem  to  be,  dear  ?  "  she  enquired, 
speaking  across  her  husband.  "  Doctor  Routh  was 
not  very  encouraging." 

"  He  is  better — really  better,  I'm  sure,"  answered 
Katharine,  seizing  the  opportunity  of  turning  the 
conversation.  "When  I  first  went  in,  he  looked 
dreadfully  ill.  His  eyes  are  quite  sunken  and  his 
cheeks  are  positively  hollow.  But  gradually,  as 


THE  RALSTONS.  57 

we  talked,  he  revived,  and  when  I  left  him  he 
really  seemed  quite  cheerful." 

She  paused,  not  seeing  how  she  could  go  on  talk 
ing  about  the  old  gentleman's  appearance  much 
longer.  She  hoped  her  mother  would  ask  another 
question,  but  her  father  interposed  again,  with 
senseless  and  almost  brutal  persistence. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  he  is  better,"  he  said. 
"  But  I'm  still  waiting  for  an  answer  to  my  ques 
tion.  What  was  the  nature  of  the  conversation 
between  you,  Katharine?  I  insist  upon  knowing." 

"  Eeally,  papa,"  answered  the  young  girl,  look 
ing  up  to  him  with  eyes  almost  as  hard  as  his  own, 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  so  determined  to 
know." 

"It's  of  no  consequence  why  I  wish  to  know. 
It  should  be  sufficient  for  you  to  understand  my 
wishes.  I  expect  you  to  obey  me  at  once  and  to 
give  a  clear  account  of  what  took  place.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

«  Perfectly  —  oh,  yes  !  " 

It  was  evident  from  Katharine's  tone  that  she 
did  not  intend  to  satisfy  him.  Her  mother  thought 
that  she  might  have  excused  herself  instead  of 
refusing  so  abruptly.  She  might  have  even  given 
a  harmless  sketch  of  an  imaginary  conversation. 
But  that  was  not  her  way,  as  she  would  have  said. 

Alexander's  anger  increased  with  every  moment, 
in  a  way  by  no  means  normal  with  him.  He  said 


58  THE  KALSTONS. 

nothing  for  a  few  moments,  but  walked  stiffly  on, 
biting  his  clean-shaven  upper  lip  with  his  bright 
teeth.  He  felt  himself  helpless,  which  made  the 
position  worse. 

"So  uncle  Kobert  is  really  better/'  said  Mrs. 
Lauderdale,  pacifically  inclined. 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  Katharine,  mechanically. 

"  I'm  very  glad.  Aren't  you  glad,  Alexander,  my 
dear  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  her  husband. 

"  Of  course.     What  a  foolish  question ! " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  felt  that  under  the  circum 
stances  it  had  certainly  been  a  very  foolish  ques 
tion,  and  she  relapsed  into  silence.  She  was,  on  the 
whole,  a  very  good  woman,  and  was  sincere  in  saying 
that  she  was  glad  of  the  old  man's  recovery.  This 
was  not  inconsistent  with  her  recent  haste  to  in 
form  her  husband  of  the  supposed  danger.  It  had 
seemed  quite  natural  to  her  to  think  of  going  in 
stantly  to  old  Robert  Lauderdale's  bedside,  if  there 
were  any  possibility  of  his  dying.  She  knew,  also, 
far  better  than  Katharine  had  known,  what  an 
immense  sum  was  to  be  divided  at  his  death,  and 
considering  the  life  she  had  led  under  her  husband's 
economic  rule,  she  might  be  pardoned  if,  even  being 
strongly  attached  to  the  old  gentleman,  she  was  a 
little  agitated  at  the  thought  of  the  changes  im 
minent  in  her  own  existence.  There  is  a  point 
at  which  humanity  must  be  forgiven  for  being 
human.  In  the  memorable  struggle  for  the  great 


THE  RALSTONS.  59 

Lauderdale  fortune,  which  divided  the  tribe  against 
itself,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Mrs.  Lauder 
dale  was  sincerely  fond  of  the  man  who  had  accu 
mulated  the  wealth,  though  she  afterwards  took 
a  distinct  side  in  the  affairs,  and  showed  herself 
as  eager  as  many  others  to  obtain  as  much  as  pos 
sible  for  her  husband  and  her  children. 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  her,  the  opening  skirmish 
continued  sharply.  After  walking  nearly  the 
length  of  a  block  in  silence,  Alexander  Junior 
once  more  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  of  his 
daughter. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  Katharine,  that  you  defi 
nitely  refuse  to  speak  ?  "  he  enquired,  sternly. 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  should  tell  you  in  detail  all 
that  uncle  Kobert  and  I  said  to  each  other  this 
morning,  —  yes.  I  refuse." 

"Do  you  know  that  you  are  disobedient  and 
undutiful  ?  " 

"It  isn't  necessary  to  discuss  that.  I'm  not  a 
child  any  longer." 

"Very  well.     We  shall  see." 

And  they  continued  to  walk  in  silence.  Alexan 
der  was  fond  of  walking  and  of  all  sorts  of  exercise, 
when  it  did  not  interfere  with  the  rigid  punctuality 
of  his  business  habits.  He  had  been  a  very  strong 
man  in  his  youth. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  hostilities,  and  the 
events  hitherto  described  took  place  in  the  month 
of  April. 


60  THE  RALSTONS. 

Kobert  Lauderdale's  instinct  had  not  deceived 
him,  in  prompting  him  to  say  that  he  was  not  going 
to  die  when  he  seemed  most  ill.  He  rallied  quickly, 
and  within  a  fortnight  of  the  day  on  which  he 
had  sent  for  Katharine,  he  was  able  to  be  driven 
in  the  Park,  in  the  noon  sunshine.  He  was  changed, 
and  had  grown  suddenly  much  thinner,  but  most 
of  his  friends  thought  that  at  his  age  this  was  no 
bad  sign. 

Ever  since  that  crisis  there  had  been  a  coldness 
between  Katharine  and  her  father.  She  felt  that 
he  was  watching  her  perpetually,  looking,  perhaps, 
for  an  opportunity  of  making  her  feel  his  displeas 
ure,  and  assuredly  trying  to  find  out  what  she 
knew.  The  subject  was  not  mentioned,  and  Alex 
ander  Junior  seemed  to  have  accepted  his  defeat 
more  calmly  than  might  have  been  expected ;  but 
Katharine  knew  his  character  well  enough  to  be 
sure  that  the  humiliation  rankled,  and  that  the 
obstinate  determination  to  find  out  the  secret  was 
as  constantly  present  as  ever. 

Katharine's  life  became  more  and  more  difficult 
and  complicated,  and  she  seemed  to  become  more 
powerless  every  day,  when  she  tried  to  see  some 
way  of  simplifying  it.  She  found  herself,  indeed, 
in  a  very  extraordinary  position,  and  one  which 
requires  a  little  elucidation  for  all  those  who  are 
not  acquainted  with  her  previous  history. ' 

In  the  first  place,  she  had  been  secretly  married 


THE  R ALSTONS.  61 

to  her  second  cousin  John  Ralston,  nearly  five 
months  before  the  beginning  of  this  story.  John 
Ralston  had  faults  which  could  not  be  concealed. 
It  had  been  said  with  some  truth  that  he  drank  and 
occasionally  played  high ;  that  he  was  a  failure,  as 
far  as  any  worldly  success  was  concerned,  was  evi 
dent  enough,  although  he  was  now  making  what 
seemed  to  be  a  determined  effort  at  regular  work. 
He  was  certainly  not  a  particularly  good  young  man. 
His  father,  the  admiral,  who  had  been  dead  some 
years,  had  been  a  brave  sailor  and  distinguished  in 
the  service,  but  there  were  many  stories  of  his  wild 
doings,  so  that  those  who  trace  all  character  to 
heredity  may  find  an  excuse  for  John's  evil  ten 
dencies  in  his  father's  temperament.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  he  had  undoubtedly  been  exceedingly  '  lively,' 
as  his  distant  cousin  and  best  friend,  Hamilton 
Bright,  expressed  it. 

But  he  had  his  good  points.  He  was  honourable 
to  a  fault.  He  loved  Katharine  with  a  single- 
hearted  devotion  very  rare  in  so  young  a  man, — for 
he  was  only  five  and  twenty  years  of  age, — and  for 
her  sake  had  been  making  a  desperate  attempt  to 
master  his  worse  instincts.  He  could  be  said  to 
have  succeeded  in  that,  at  least,  since  he  had  made 
his  good  resolutions.  Whether  he  could  keep  them 
for  the  rest  of  his  life  was  another  matter. 

Katharine's  father,  however,  put  no  faith  in  him, 
and  never  would.  Moreover,  John  was  a  poor 


62  THE  BALSTONS. 

man,  a  consideration  which  had  great  weight.  No 
one  could  suspect  that  his  great  uncle  intended  to 
leave  him  a  large  share  of  the  fortune,  and  it  was 
very  generally  believed  that  they  had  quarrelled 
and  that  John  Ralston,  was  to  be  cut  off  with 
nothing.  This  opinion  was  partly  due  to  the  fact 
that  John  kept  away  from  Robert  Lauderdale's 
house  more  than  the  rest  of  the  family,  because 
he  dreaded  the  idea  of  being  counted  among  the 
hangers  on  of  the  tribe.  But  Alexander  Lauder- 
dale  could  not  forbid  him  the  house,  because  he 
was  a  relation,  but  altogether  refused  to  hear  of 
a  marriage  with  Katharine.  He  hoped  to  make  for 
her  a  match  as  good  as  her  sister's,  if  not  better. 
The  scene  with  John  had  been  almost  violent,  but 
the  young  lovers  had  contrived  to  see  each  other 
with  the  freedom  afforded  by  society  to  near 
relatives. 

Almost  a  year  had  passed  in  this  way,  and  there 
had  seemed  to  be  no  prospect  of  a  solution,  when 
Katharine  had  taken  the  law  into  her  own  hands, 
being  at  that  time  nineteen  years  old.  She  had 
persuaded  John  that  if  he  would  marry  her  secretly, 
she  could  at  once  prevail  on  old  Robert  Lauderdale 
to  find  him  some  occupation  in  the  West.  After 
much  hesitation  John  Ralston  had  consented,  on 
condition  that  uncle  Robert  should  be  told  imme 
diately.  The  pair  were  secretly  married  by  a  clergy 
man  whom  John  persuaded  to  perform  the  ceremony, 


THE  EALSTONS.  63 

and  an  hour  later  Katharine  had  told  the  old  gentle 
man  her  secret.  He  at  once  offered  to  make  her  and 
John  independent  —  for  the  honour  of  the  family ; 
but  John  had  stipulated  that  he  was  to  receive 
nothing  of  the  nature  of  money.  That  would  have 
been  like  begging  with  a  loaded  pistol.  What  he 
wanted  was  a  position  in  which  he  might  do  some 
sort  of  work,  and  receive  an  equivalent  sufficient  to 
support  himself  and  his  wife.  Robert  Lauderdale 
at  once  proved  to  his  grand-niece  that  such  a  scheme 
was  wholly  impracticable.  John  could  do  nothing 
which  could  earn  him  a  dollar  a  day.  Katharine 
had  to  own  at  last  that  he  was  right.  He  said  that 
if  John  would  work  steadily  in  an  office  in  New 
York,  even  for  a  year,  it  would  be  easy  to  push  him 
rapidly  into  success. 

The  compromise  was  accepted  as  the  only  way 
out  of  the  difficulty.  The  secret  marriage  remained 
a  secret,  and  a  mere  accomplished  formality.  John 
continued  to  live  with  his  mother  as  though  he  were 
a  bachelor ;  Katharine  stayed  under  her  father's 
roof  as  Miss  Lauderdale.  John  returned  to  Beman 
Brothers,  and  was  now  working  there,  as  has  been 
said  more  than  once.  Katharine  had  to  bear  all 
the  difficulties  of  a  totally  false  position  in  society. 
These  had  been  the  results  of  the  secret  marriage, 
so  far  as  actual  consequences  in  fact  were  con 
cerned.  Morally  speaking,  there  could  be  no  ques 
tion  but  that  John  Ralston,  at  least,  had  profited 


64  THE  RALSTONS. 

enormously  by  the  sense  of  honourable  responsibil 
ity  Katharine  had  forced  upon  him.  He  had  made 
one  of  those  supreme  efforts  of  which  natures 
nervous  by  temperament,  melancholy,  and  some 
times  susceptible  of  exaltation,  are  often  capable. 
The  almost  divine  dignity  which  his  mother  had 
taught  him  to  attribute  to  the  code  of  honour  stood 
him  in  good  stead.  He  saw  by  the  light  which 
guides  heroes,  things  not  heroic  in  themselves  to 
be  done,  but  brave  at  least,  and  they  were  easy  to 
him,  because,  for  Katharine's  sake,  he  would  have 
done  much  more. 

So  far  as  Katharine  was  concerned,  the  effect 
upon  her  was  different.  It  might  even  be  ques 
tioned  whether  it  were  a  good  effect.  She  was 
helpless  to  do  anything  which  could  improve  her 
position,  and  the  result  was  a  feeling  of  hostility 
against  her  surroundings.  The  whole  fabric  of 
society  seemed  to  her  to  rest  upon  a  doubtful 
foundation,  since  two  young  people  so  eminently 
fitted  for  each  other  could  be  forced  by  it  into 
such  a  situation. 

They  were  of  equal  standing  in  every  way ;  she 
had  even  lately  learned  that  their  prospects  of 
fortune,  which  were  little  short  of  colossal,  were 
precisely  the  same.  They  loved  each  other.  They 
were  married  by  church  and  law.  Yet  between 
John's  code  of  honour,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
Alexander  Lauderdale's  determined  opposition,  on 


THE  EALSTONS.  65 

the  other,  they  dared  not  so  much  as  own  that 
they  were  husband  and  wife,  lest  some  enormous 
social  scandal  should  ensue.  They  had  but  one 
alternative  —  to  leave  New  York  together,  which 
meant  starvation,  or  else  to  accept  Kobert  Lauder- 
dale's  help  in  the  form  of  money,  which  John  was 
too  proud  to  do.  And  though  John  would  have 
been  quite  ready  to  starve  alone,  he  had  no  inten 
tion  of  subjecting  Katharine  to  any  such  ordeal. 
He  blamed  himself  most  bitterly  for  having  ac 
cepted  the  secret  marriage  at  all,  but  since  the 
thing  was  done,  he  meant  to  do  his  share  and  bear 
his  burden  manfully  and  honourably.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  to  atone  for  his  weakness  in  having 
yielded,  and  for  the  trouble  he  had  caused  Katha 
rine. 

But  she  had  no  such  active  part  as  he.  He  must 
work,  for  he  had  chosen  that  salvation  for  his  self- 
respect,  and  it  was  her  portion  to  wait  until  he 
could  win  his  independence  on  his  own  merits, 
since  he  would  not  be  indebted  for  it  to  any  one. 
The  waiting  is  often  harder  to  bear  than  the  work 
ing.  Katharine  grew  impatient  of  the  conventions 
in  the  midst  of  which  she  lived,  and  found  fault 
with  the  system  of  all  modern  society. 

She  was  strangely  repelled,  too,  by  the  attentions 
of  the  young  men  she  met  daily,  and  danced  with, 
and  sat  beside  at  dinner.  They  had  amused  her 
until  the  last  winter.  She  was  not  one  of  those 


66  THE  E ALSTONS. 

girls  who  either  feign  indifference  to  amusement, 
or  really  feel  it,  and  so  long  as  she  had  been  free 
to  enjoy  herself  without  any  secondary  thoughts 
about  the  meaning  of  enjoyment,  she  had  found 
the  world  a  pleasant  place.  Now,  however,  she 
was  for  the  first  time  made  conscious  that  several 
of  the  young  fellows  who  surrounded  her  at  parties 
really  wished  to  marry  her.  The  genuine  and 
pure-hearted  convictions  concerning  the  inviolable 
sanctity  of  marriage,  which  are  peculiarly  strong 
in  American  young  girls,  asserted  themselves  with 
Katharine  at  every  moment.  Being  the  lawfully 
wedded  wife  of  John  Ralston,  it  seemed  an  outrage 
that  young  Van  De  Water,  for  instance,  should 
seek  occasion  to  assure  her  of  his  devotion.  Yet, 
since  he,  like  the  rest,  knew  nothing  of  the  truth, 
she  could  not  blame  him  if  he  had  chanced  to  fall 
in  love  with  her.  She  could  only  refuse  to  listen 
to  him  and  discourage  his  advances,  feeling  all  the 
while  a  most  unreasonable  and  yet  womanly  desire 
to  hand  him  over  to  her  husband's  tender  mercies, 
together  with  a  firm  faith  that  John  was  not  only 
able,  but  would  also  be  quite  disposed,  to  slay  the 
offender  forthwith. 

This  seems  to  prove  that  woman  is  naturally 
good,  and  that  harm  can  only  reach  her  by  slow 
stages.  And  it  is  a  curious  reflection  that  gener 
ally  in  the  world  good,  when  it  comes,  comes 
quickly  and  evil  slowly.  Great  purifying  religions 


THE  E ALSTONS.  67 

have  arisen  and  washed  whole  nations  clean,  almost 
in  one  man's  lifetime,  whereas  it  has  always  re 
quired  generations  of  luxury  and  vice  to  undermine 
the  solidity  of  any  strong  people.  A  first  sin  is 
rarely  more  than  an  episode,  too  often  exaggerated 
by  those  who  would  direct  the  conscience,  and  who 
leave  the  offenders  to  the  terrible  danger  of  discov 
ering  such  exaggerations  later,  and  then  of  setting 
down  all  wrong-doing  as  insignificant  because  the 
first  was  made  to  appear  greater  than  it  was. 

Katharine  hated  the  falseness  of  her  position, 
and  the  perpetual  irritation  to  which  she  was 
exposed  unsettled  the  balance  of  her  girlish  con 
victions  as  they  had  emerged  from  the  process  of 
education,  ready-made,  honest,  and  somewhat  con 
ventional.  The  disturbance  awakened  abnormal 
activity  in  her  mind,  arid  she  fell  into  the  habit 
of  questioning  and  discussing  almost  every  ac 
cepted  article  of  creeds  social  and  spiritual. 

Hence  her  liking  for  the  society  of  Paul  Griggs, 
whose  experience  was  a  fact,  but  whose  convictions 
were  a  mystery  not  easily  fathomed.  Alexander 
Lauderdale  especially  detested  the  man  for  his 
easy  way  of  accepting  anybody's  religious  beliefs, 
as  though  the  form  of  religion  were  of  no  impor 
tance  whatever,  while  perpetually  thrusting  for 
ward  the  humanity  of  mankind  as  the  principal 
point  of  interest  in  life.  But  when  he  was  alone 
with  Katharine,  or  with  some  kindred  spirit, 
Griggs  sometimes  talked  of  other  things. 


68  THE  BALSTONS. 

The  day  on  which  Katharine,  returning  from 
Robert  Lauderdale's  house,  refused  to  answer  her 
father's  questions  was  an  important  one  in  her 
history  and  in  the  lives  of  many  closely  connected 
with  her ;  and  this  has  seemed  the  best  place  for 
offering  an  explanation  of  such  preceding  events 
as  bear  directly  upon  all  that  followed.  Here, 
therefore,  ends  the  prologue  to  the  story  which  is 
to  tell  of  the  lives  of  John  Ralston  and  his  wife, 
commonly  known  as  Miss  Lauderdale,  during  the 
great  battle  for  the  Lauderdale  fortune*  It  has 
been  a  long  prologue,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case 
in  such  tiresome  preliminary  pieces,  the  majority 
of  the  actors  in  the  real  play  have  not  yet 
appeared,  and  the  few  who  have  come  before  the 
curtain  crave  as  yet  indulgence  rather  than  ap 
plause.  They  have  shown  their  faces  and  have 
explained  the  general  nature  of  what  is  to  be 
represented,  and  they  retire  as  gracefully  as  they 
can,  under  rather  difficult  circumstances,  to  re 
appear  in  such  actions  and  situations  as  should 
explain  themselves. 


^ 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN  itself,  Robert  Lauderdale's  will  was  a  very 
fair  one.  It  provided,  as  has  been  seen,  that  each 
of  the  living  members  of  the  family  in  the  direct 
line  should  have  an  equal  income,  while  insuring 
the  important  condition  that  the  money  should 
remain  in  the  hands  of  the  Lauder dales  and  Hals- 
tons  as  long  as  possible,  since  the  income  paid  to 
the  four  elder  members,  Alexander  Lauderdale 
Senior,  Alexander  Junior,  the  latter's  wife  and 
Mrs.  Ealston,  John's  mother,  should  revert  at  the 
deaths  of  each  to  the  three  younger  heirs,  John 
Ealston,  Katharine,  and  Charlotte  Slay  back,  and 
afterwards  to  the  children  of  each. 

This  result  seemed  just  and,  on  the  whole,  to  be 
desired.  Robert  Lauderdale  had  devoted  much 
thought  to  the  subject,  and  had  seen  no  other  way 
of  acting  fairly  and  at  the  same  time  of  providing 
as  far  as  possible  against  the  subdivision  and  dis 
appearance  of  the  great  fortune  he  had  amassed. 
The  will  was  to  constitute  three  separate  trusts, 
one  for  each  of  the  direct  legatees  and  their 
children,  at  whose  death  the  trusts  would  expire, 


70  THE  RALSTONS. 

and  the  property  be  further  divided  amongst  the 
succeeding  generations  in  each  line. 

The  old  millionaire  was  a  very  enlightened  man, 
and  had  honestly  endeavoured  during  his  lifetime 
to  understand  the  conditions  and  obligations  to 
which  the  possessors  of  very  large  fortunes  should 
submit.  Looking  at  the  matter  from  this  point  of 
view,  he  had  come  to  regard  the  accumulation  and 
dissipation  of  wealth  as  a  succession  of  natural 
phenomena,  somewhat  analogous  to  those  of  evapo 
ration  and  rain,  beneficial  when  gradual,  destructive 
when  sudden.  As  water  is  drawn  up  in  the  form  of 
vapour,  in  invisible  atoms,  gradually  to  accumulate 
in  the  form  of  clouds,  which,  moving  under  natu 
ral  conditions,  are  borne  towards  those  regions 
where  moisture  is  most  needed,  to  descend  gently 
and  be  lost  in  showers  that  give  earth  life,  until 
the  sky  above  is  clear  again,  and  all  the  fields 
below  are  green  with  growing  things  —  so,  thought 
Kobert  Lauderdale,  should  wealth  follow  a  reason 
able  and  beneficial  course  of  constant  distribution 
and  redistribution,  to  promote  which  was  a  moral 
obligation  upon  those  through  whose  hands  it 
passed.  He  was  not  sure  that  it  was  in  any  way 
his  duty  to  leave  vast  sums  for  charities,  nor  to 
hasten  the  subdivision  of  the  property  in  any 
violent  way ;  for  he  knew  well  enough  that  sudden 
divisions  generally  mean  the  forcible  depression 
of  values,  in  which  case  wealth,  of  which  the 


THE  EALSTONS.  71 

income  being  spent  regularly  should  find  its  way 
to  the  points  where  it  is  most  needed,  must,  on 
the  contrary,  become  dormant  until  values  are  re 
stored,  if  indeed  they  ever  are  restored  altogether. 

If  he  had  been  the  father  of  one  or  more  chil 
dren,  there  is  no  knowing  how  he  might  have 
acted.  If  there  had  been  in  the  whole  family  one 
man  whom  he  sincerely  trusted  to  act  wisely,  he 
might  have  left  him  the  bulk  of  the  fortune, 
giving  each  of  the  others  a  sum  which  would  have 
been  large  compared  with  what  they  had  of  their 
own,  but  wholly  insignificant  by  the  side  of  the 
main  property.  But  no  such  selection  was  possi 
ble.  His  brother  was  a  very  old  man,  wholly  un 
fitted  for  the  purpose.  His  brother's  son  was  a 
miser,  and  a  dull  one  at  that,  in  Robert's  estima 
tion.  John  Ralston  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for 
a  moment.  Hamilton  Bright  would  have  answered 
the  conditions,  but  he  was  far  removed  in  relation 
ship,  being  a  descendant  of  Robert  Lauderdale's 
uncle  through  a  female  line.  Nevertheless,  Robert 
Lauderdale  hesitated. 

It  was  perhaps  natural  that  Alexander  Junior 
should  believe  that  he  was  the  proper  person  for 
his  uncle  to  select  as  the  principal  heir.  He  was 
the  only  son  of  the  eldest  of  the  family.  He  was 
a  man  of  stainless  reputation,  occupying  a  position 
of  high  importance  and  trust.  No  one  could  have 
denied  that  he  was  scrupulous  in  business  matters 


72  THE  EALSTONS. 

to  a  degree  rare  even  amongst  the  most  honourable 
men  of  his  own  city.  He  was  comparatively  young, 
being  only  fifty  years  old,  and  he  might  live  a 
quarter  of  a  century  to  administer  and  hold  to 
gether  the  Lauderdale  estate,  for  his  health  was 
magnificent  and  his  strength  of  iron. 

He  had  thought  it  all  over  daily  for  so  many 
years,  that  he  could  see  no  possible  reason  why  he 
should  not  be  the  principal  heir.  In  arguing  the 
case,  he  told  himself  that  his  uncle  was  not  capri 
cious,  that  he  would  certainly  not  leave  his  fortune 
to  Hamilton  Bright,  who  was  the  only  other  sensi 
ble  man  of  business  in  the  whole  connection,  and 
that  it  was  generally  in  the  nature  of  very  rich 
men  to  wish  to  know  that  their  wealth  was  to  be 
kept  together  after  they  were  dead.  No  one  could 
possibly  do  that  better  than  Alexander  Lauderdale 
Junior. 

Nevertheless,  he  felt  conscious  that  his  uncle 
disliked  him  personally,  and  in  moments  of  depres 
sion,  when  he  had  taken  too  little  exercise  and  his 
liver  was  torpid,  the  certainty  of  this  caused  him 
much  uneasiness.  There  was  no  apparent  reason 
for  it,  and  it  suggested  to  his  self-satisfied  nature 
the  idea  that  some  caprice  entered,  after  all,  into 
the  nature  of  his  uncle.  On  such  occasions  he 
rarely  failed  to  instruct  Mrs.  Lauderdale  to  ask 
uncle  Robert  to  dinner,  and  to  be  particularly  care 
ful  that  the  fish  should  be  perfect.  Uncle  Kobert 


THE  RALSTONS.  73 

was  fond  of  fish  and  a  quiet  family  party.  Katha 
rine  was  his  favourite,  but  he  liked  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale,  and  his  brother,  the  old  philanthropist,  was 
congenial  to  him,  though  the  two  took  very  differ 
ent  views  of  humanity  and  the  public  good. 
Alexander  Senior's  dream  was  to  get  possession  of 
all  Robert's  millions  and  distribute  them  within  a 
week  amongst  a  number  of  asylums  and  charitable 
institutions  which  he  patronized.  He  should  then 
feel  that  he  had  done  a  good  work  and  that  his 
benevolent  instincts  had  been  satisfied.  He  some 
times  sat  in  his  study  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  —  for 
he  smoked  execrable  tobacco  perpetually  —  and 
tried  to  persuade  himself  that  '  brother  Bob ' 
might  perhaps  after  all  leave  him  the  whole  for 
tune.  There  would  be  great  joy  among  the  idiots 
on  that  day,  thought  old  Alexander,  as  the  two- 
cent  '  Virginia  cheroot '  dropped  from  his  hand,  and 
he  fell  asleep  in  his  well-worn  armchair.  And 
then  came  dreams  of  unbounded  charity,  of  un 
limited  improvement  and  education  of  the  poor 
and  deficient.  -The  greatest  men  of  the  age  should 
be  employed  to  devote  their  lives  to  the  happiness 
of  the  poor  little  blind  boys,  and  of  the  little 
girls  born  deaf,  and  of  the  vacantly  staring  blear- 
eyed  youths  whom  nature  had  made  carelessly,  and 
whom  God  had  sent  into  the  world,  perhaps,  as  a 
means  of  grace  to  those  more  richly  endowed. 
For  old  Alexander  was  charitable  to  every  one  — 


74  THE  RALSTONS. 

even  to  the  Supreme  Being,  whose  motives  he  ven 
tured  to  judge.  He  was  incapable  of  an  unkind 
thought,  and  in  the  heaven  of  his  old  fancy  he 
would  have  founded  an  asylum  for  reformed  devils 
and  would  not  have  hesitated  to  beg  a  subscription 
of  Satan  himself,  being  quite  ready  to  believe  that 
the  Prince  of  Hell  might  have  his  good  moments. 
He  would  have  prayed  cheerfully  for  Hhe  puir 
deil.'  There  is  no  limit  to  the  charity  of  such 
over-kind  hearts.  Nothing  seems  to  them  so  bad 
but  that,  by  gentleness  and  persuasion,  it  may  at 
last  be  made  good. 

He  knew,  of  course,  for  Robert  had  told  him, 
that  he  was  not  to  have  the  millions  even  during 
the  few  remaining  years  of  his  life,  and  he  bore 
his  brother  no  malice  for  the  decision.  Robert 
promised  him  that  he  should  have  plenty  of  money 
for  his  poor  people,  but  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
if  he  had  the  whole  property  he  would  pauperize 
half  the  city  of  New  York  in  six  months. 

"  You'd  give  every  newsboy  and  messenger  boy 
in  the  city  a  roast  turkey  for  dinner  every  day," 
laughed  Robert. 

"If  I  thought  it  might  improve  the  condition 
of  poor  boys,  I  certainly  should,"  answered  the 
philanthropist,  gravely.  "  I'm  fond  of  roast  turkey 
myself  —  with  cranberry  sauce  and  chestnuts 
inside.  Why  shouldn't  the  poor  little  fellows 
have  it,  too,  if  every  one  had  enough  money  ?  " 


THE  R ALSTONS.  75 

"If  there  were  enough  money  to  go  round, 
creation  would  be  turned  into  a  kitchen  for  a 
week,  and  into  a  hospital  for  six  months  after 
wards,"  observed  Kobert  Lauderdale.  "  Fortunately, 
money's  scarcer  than  greediness." 

And  on  the  whole,  there  was  much  wisdom  in 
this  plain  view,  which  to  Kobert  himself  presented 
a  clear  picture  of  the  condition  of  mankind  in 
general  in  regard  to  money  and  its  distribution. 

It  would  not  have  been  natural  if  even  the  least 
money-loving  members  of  the  family  had  not  often 
speculated,  each  in  his  or  her  own  way,  about  the 
chances  of  receiving  something  very  considerable 
when  old  Robert  died.  He  had  been  generous  to 
them  all,  according  to  his  lights,  but  he  had  not 
considered  that  any  of  them  were  objects  of  char 
ity.  The  true  conditions  of  his  brother's  household 
life  had  been  carefully  concealed  from  him,  until 
Katharine  had,  almost  accidentally,  given  him  an 
insight  into  her  father's  family  methods,  so  to  say. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  long  known  that  Alexander 
Junior  must  have  much  more  money  than  he  was 
commonly  thought  to  possess,  and  his  mode  of 
living,  as  compared  with  his  fortune,  proved  con 
clusively  that  he  hoarded  what  he  had.  He  must 
have  known  that  a  large  share  of  the  estate  must 
ultimately  come  to  him,  and  he  could  assuredly 
have  had  no  doubts  as  to  its  solidity,  since  it  con 
sisted  entirely  in  land  and  houses.  What  was  he 


76  THE  RALSTONS. 

hoarding  his  income  for  ?  That  was  the  question 
which  naturally  suggested  itself  to  Robert,  and  the 
only  answer  he  could  find,  and  the  one  which 
accorded  perfectly  with  his  own  knowledge  of  his 
nephew's  character,  was  that  Alexander  was  a 
miser.  As  the  certainty  solidified  in  the  rich 
man's  mind,  he  became  more  and  more  deter 
mined  that  Alexander  Junior  should  know  noth 
ing  of  the  dispositions  of  the  will. 

And  he  had  rigidly  kept  his  own  counsel  until 
that  day  when  he  had  confided  in  Katharine. 
When  he  was  well  again,  or,  at  all  events,  so  far 
recovered  as  to  feel  sure  that  he  might  live  some 
time  longer,  he  regretted  what  he  had  done.  Weak 
ened  by  illness,  he  had  acted  on  impulse  in  making 
a  young  girl  the  repository  of  his  secret  intentions. 
Moreover,  he  had  not  intended  to  part  with  the 
right  to  change  them  whenever  he  should  see  fit, 
and  the  problem  of  the  distribution  of  wealth 
continued  to  absorb  his  attention.  He  had  great 
faith  in  Katharine,  but,  after  all,  she  was  not  a 
man,  as  he  told  himself  repeatedly.  She  might 
be  expected  to  confide  in  John  Ralston,  who  might, 
on  some  unfortunate  day,  drink  a  glass  of  wine 
too  much  and  reveal  the  facts  of  the  case.  He 
would  have  been  even  more  disturbed  than  he 
was,  had  he  known  that  Alexander  Junior  sus 
pected  his  daughter  of  knowing  the  truth. 

Robert  Lauderdale  had  certainly  not  made  her 


THE  RALSTONS.  77 

life  easier  for  her  by  what  he  had  done.  During 
several  days  her  father  from  time  to  time  repeated 
his  questions. 

"I  hope  that  you  are  in  an  altered  frame  of 
mind,  Katharine/'  he  said.  "  This  perpetual  obsti 
nacy  on  the  part  of  my  child  is  very  painful  to  me." 

"  I  might  say  something  of  the  same  kind,"  Kath 
arine  answered.  "It's  painful — as  you  choose  to 
call  it  —  to  me,  to  be  questioned  again  and  again 
about  a  thing  I  won't  speak  of.  Why  will  you  do 
it?  You  seem  to  think  that  I  hold  my  tongue 
out  of  sheer  eccentricity,  just  to  annoy  you.  Is 
that  what  you  think?  If  so,  you're  very  much 
mistaken." 

"  It's  the  only  possible  explanation  of  your  un- 
dutiful  conduct.  I  repeat  that  I'm  very  much 
pained  by  your  behaviour." 

"Look  here,  papa!"  cried  Katharine,  turning 
upon  him  suddenly.  "Don't  drag  in  the  question 
of  duty.  It's  one's  duty  to  keep  a  secret  when 
one's  heard  it  —  whether  one  wanted  to  hear  it  or 
not.  There's  no  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should 
repeat  to  you  what  uncle  Robert  told  me  —  any 
more  than  why  I  should  go  and  tell  Charlotte,  or 
Hester  Crowdie,  or  anybody  else." 

"  Katharine ! "  exclaimed  Alexander  Junior, 
sternly,  "you  are  very  impertinent." 

"  Because  I  tell  you  what  I  think  my  duty  is  ? 
I'm  sorry  you  should  think  so.  And  besides,  since 


78  THE  RALSTONS. 

you  seem  so  very  anxious  that  I  should  betray  a 
secret,  I'm  afraid  that  it  wouldn't  be  very  safe 
with  you." 

Alexander  Junior  did  not  wince  under  the  cut. 
He  was  firmly  persuaded  that  he  was  in  the  right. 

"If  you  were  not  a  grown-up  woman,  I  should 
send  you  to  your  room,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"Yes,  I  realize  the  advantage  of  being. grown 
up,"  answered  Katharine,  with  contempt. 

"But  I  shall  not  tolerate  this  conduct  any 
longer,"  continued  Alexander  Junior.  "I  will  not 
be  defied  by  my  own  daughter." 

"  Charlotte  defied  you  for  twenty  years,"  replied 
Katharine,  "  and  she's  not  half  as  strong  as  I  am. 
And  I  never  defied  you,  and  I  don't  now.  That's 
not  the  way  I  should  put  it.  I'm  not  so  dramatic, 
and  as  long  as  I  won't,  —  why,  I  won't,  that's  all,  — 
and  there's  no  need  of  calling  it  defiance,  nor  by 
any  other  big  name." 

Alexander  was  a  cold  man,  and  it  was  not  likely 
that  he ,  should  lose  his  temper  again  as  he  had 
when  he  had  walked  home  with  her  from  Kobert 
Lauderdale's.  He  began  to  recognize  that  in  the 
matter  of  imposing  his  will  forcibly,  he  had  met 
his  match.  He  had  generally  succeeded  in  dom 
inating  those  with  whom  he  came  into  close  rela 
tions  in  life,  but  his  hard  and  freezing  exterior  had 
contributed  more  to  the  effect  than  his  intellectual 
gifts.  Finding  that  his  personality  failed  to  pro- 


THE  E ALSTONS.  79 

duce  the  usual  result,  he  temporized,  for  he  was 
not  good  at  sharp  answers. 

"There's  no  denying  the  fact,"  he  said,  "that 
uncle  Robert  has  told  you  about  his  will.  Can 
you  deny  that  ?  " 

The  latter  question  is  a  terrible  weapon,  and  is 
the  favourite  one  of  dull  persons  when  dealing 
with  truthful  ones,  because  it  is  so  easily  used  and 
so  effective.  Katharine  was  familiar  with  it,  and 
knew  that  her  father  had  few  others,  and  none  so 
strong.  She  met  it  in  the  approved  fashion,  which 
is  as  good  as  any,  though  none  are  satisfactory. 

"  That's  an  absurd  question,"  she  answered. 
"You've  made  up  your  mind  beforehand,  and 
nothing  I  could  say  would  make  you  change  it. 
If  I  denied  that  uncle  Robert  had  told  me  any 
thing  about  his  will,  you  wouldn't  believe  me." 

"  Certainly  not ! "  replied  Alexander,  falling  into 
the  trap  like  a  school-boy. 

"Then  it's  clear  that  nothing  I  can  say  can 
make  you  change  your  mind  —  in  other  words,  that 
you're  prejudiced,"  said  Katharine,  in  cool  triumph. 
"  And  as  that's  undeniable,  from  your  own  words,  I 
don't  see  that  it's  of  the  slightest  use  to  ask  me 
questions." 

Her  father  bit  his  clean-shaven  upper  lip  and 
frowned  severely. 

"I  don't  know  where  you  get  such  sophistries 
from !  "  he  answered,  in  impotent  arrogance.  "  Un- 


80  THE  EALSTONS. 

less  it's  that  Mr.  Griggs  who  teaches  you,"  he 
added,  taking  a  new  line  of  aggression. 

"  Why  do  yon  say  '  that '  Mr.  Griggs,  as  though 
he  were  an  adventurer  or  a  fool  ?  "  enquired  Katha 
rine,  arching  her  black  brows. 

"  Because  I  suspect  him  of  being  both,"  answered 
Alexander  Junior,  jumping  at  the  suggestion  with 
an  affectation  of  keenness. 

Katharine  laughed. 

"  That's  too  absurd,  papa  !  You'd  have  said  just 
the  same  thing  if  I'd  said  ' murderer7  and  'thief.' 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Mr.  Griggs  is  a 
distinguished  man,  —  I  didn't  say  that  he  was  a 
great  genius,  —  who  has  got  where  he  is  by  hard 
work  and  good  work.  He's  no  more  of  an  adven 
turer  than  you  are." 

"  I've  heard  strange  stories  of  his  youth,  which 
I  shall  certainly  not  repeat  to  you/'  answered 
Alexander,  snapping  his  lips  in  the  fine  conscious 
ness  of  his  own  really  unimpeachable  virtue. 

One  proverb,  at  least,  is  true,  amidst  many  high- 
sounding,  conventional  lies.  Virtue  is  emphatically 
its  own  reward.  The  scorn  of  those  who  possess 
it  for  those  who  do  not,  proves  the  fact  beyond  all 
doubt. 

"I'm  not  going  to  discuss  Mr.  Griggs,  and  I 
don't  want  to  hear  about  his  youth,"  answered 
Katharine.  "You've  taken  an  unreasonable  dis 
like  for  him,  and  there's  no  necessity  for  your 
meeting  any  oftener  than  you  please." 


THE  RALSTONS.  81 

"Fortunately,  no — there's  no  necessity.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  associate  with  such  men,  and  I  regret 
very  much  that  you  should  choose  your  friends 
amongst  them.  Since  you've  announced  your  in 
tention  of  defying  me  and  disregarding  all  my 
wishes,  we'll  say  no  more  about  that  for  the  pres 
ent.  Perhaps  I  shall  find  means  to  bring  you  to 
reason  which  will  surprise  you.  In  the  mean 
time,  I  consider  that  you  are  acting  very  unwisely 
in  refusing  to  communicate  what  you  know  about 
the  will." 

"  Possibly  —  but  I'm  willing  to  abide  by  my 
mistake,"  answered  Katharine,  calmly. 

"  It  is  of  course  certain,"  continued  her  father, 
"that  a  very  large  sum  of  money  will  come  to  us 
when  my  uncle  Robert  dies  —  some  day.  Let  us 
hope  that  it  may  be  long  before  that  happens." 

"By  all  means,  let's  hope  so,"  observed  Kath 
arine. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  Katharine.  You  can  at 
least  show  me  the  common  courtesy  of  listening  to 
what  I  say,  whatever  position  you  may  choose  to 
take  up  against  me.  As  I  was  saying,  a  great  deal 
of  money  will  come  to  some  of  us.  We  do  not 
know  exactly  how  much  it  will  be,  though  I've  no 
doubt  that  you're  acquainted  with  all  the  details. 
But  I  admit  that  you  can't  possibly  appreciate 
how  important  it  is  for  us  all  to  know  how  this 
great  fortune  is  to  be  disposed  of,  and  who  has 


82  THE  RALSTONS. 

been  selected  as  the  administrator.  The  happiness 
of  many  persons,  the  safety  of  the  fortune  itself, 
depend  upon  these  things  being  known  in  time." 

"  I  don't  see  what  they  can  have  to  do  with  the 
safety  of  the  fortune.  Houses  don't  run  away. 
I've  often  heard  you  say  that  uncle  Kobert  has 
everything  in  houses.  I  suppose  one  person  will 
get  one  house  and  another  will  get  another." 

"  I'm  not  here  to  explain  the  principle  of  busi 
ness  to  you,"  said  Alexander.  "  Those  are  things 
you  can't  understand.  The  death  of  a  man  of  such 
immense  wealth  necessarily  affects  public  affairs 
and  the  market,  even  if  his  fortune  is  largely  in 
real  estate.  It  is  a  security  to  the  world  at  large 
to  feel  that  a  proper  person  has  succeeded  in  the 
management  of  the  estate." 

"  I  suppose  that  uncle  Kobert  understands  that, 
too,"  observed  Katharine. 

"In  a  way,  of  course  — yes,  in  a  certain  way  he 
must,  I've  no  doubt.  But  these  great  men  never 
seem  to  realize  what  will  happen  when  they  die." 

"You  speak  of  uncle  Robert's  death  as  though 
you  expected  to  hear  of  it  this  evening.  He's 
almost  quite  well." 

Again  Alexander  Junior  bit  his  lip.  He  had, 
perhaps,  never  before  been  so  conscious  that  when 
his  personality  failed  to  produce  the  effect  he  de 
sired,  his  intelligence  had  no  chance  of  accomplish 
ing  anything  unaided. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  83 

"  This  is  intolerable ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  pro 
found  disgust.  "  Since  you  can  be  neither  decently 
civil  nor  in  any  way  reasonable,  I  shall  leave  you 
to  think  over  your  conduct." 

This  is  a  threat  which  rarely  inspires  terror  in 
the  offender.  Katharine  did  not  wish  to  go  too 
far,  and  received  the  announcement  in  silence,  sin 
cerely  hoping  that  he  would  really  go  away  and 
leave  her  to  herself.  Such  scenes  occurred  almost 
every  day,  and  she  was  weary  of  them,  —  not  more 
so,  perhaps,  than  Alexander  was  of  perpetual  de 
feat.  She  could  not  understand  why  he  was  so 
persistent,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  showed 
him  plainly  enough  how  determined  she  was  to 
keep  silence.  His  reproof  did  not  affect  her  in 
the  least,  for  she  knew  she  was  right.  She  won 
dered,  indeed,  from  time  to  time,  that  a  man  so 
undoubtedly  upright  as  he  was  should  so  press  her 
to  betray  a  confidence,  when  he  had  all  his  life 
preached  to  her  about  the  value  of  reticence  and 
discretion,  and  she  rightly  attributed  his  conduct 
to  his  excessive  anxiety  for  the  money,  overriding 
even  his  rigid  principles.  She  had  often  admired 
him,  merely  for  that  very  rigidity,  which  appealed 
to  her  as  being  masculine  and  strong.  She  despised 
him  the  more  when  she  had  discovered  that  the 
only  motive  able  to  bend  the  stiff  back  of  his 
scrupulous  theory  and  practice  was  the  love  of 
money,  pure  and  simple.  She  did  not  believe  that 


84  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

he  would  have  so  derogated  to  save  her  life.  The 
very  arrogance  of  his  manner  showed  how  far  he 
knew  himself  to  be  from  his  own  ideal.  He  was 
trying  to  carry  it  through  as  a  matter  of  right. 

Katharine  longed  to  confide  in  John  Ralston. 
He  was  not  so  free  as  he  had  been  in  his  idle  days, 
a  few  months  earlier.  Having  accepted  a  position, 
he  was  determined  to  do  his  best,  and  he  stayed 
down  town  every  day  as  long  as  there  was  the  least 
possibility  of  finding  anything  which  he  could  do  in 
the  bank. 

Not  long  after  the  last-recorded  interview  with 
Katharine,  Alexander  Junior,  being  down  town, 
had  some  reason  to  speak  of  a  matter  of  business 
with  the  senior  partner  in  Beman  Brothers',  and 
entered  the  bank  early  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  a 
vast  establishment  on  the  ground  floor,  a  few  steps 
above  the  level  of  the  street.  Being  a  place  where 
there  was  much  going  and  coming  and  active  work, 
the  office  had  not  the  air  of  icily  polished  perfection 
which  characterized  the  inner  fane  of  the  Trust 
Company.  The  counters  and  seats  were  dark,  and 
rubbed  smooth  with  use,  like  the  floor ;  the  doors 
were  worn  with  constant  handling,  but  moved 
easily  and  noiselessly  on  their  hinges.  The  brass 
gratings  and  rails  were  bright  with  long  years  of 
daily  leathering.  Everything  was  large,  strong, 
and  workmanlike,  as  a  big  engine,  which  is  well 
kept  but  gets  very  little  rest.  There  was  the  low, 


THE  EALSTONS.  85 

breathing,  softly  shuffling  sound  in  the  air,  which 
is  heard  where  many  are  busy  and  no  one  speaks  a 
superfluous  word. 

Alexander  Lauderdale  passed  through  the  great 
outer  office  and  caught  sight  of  John  Ralston, 
bending  over  some  writing  at  a  small  desk  by  him 
self.  Ralston  was  at  that  time  between  five  and  six 
and  twenty  years  of  age,  a  wiry,  lean  young  man, 
with  a  dark  face.  There  was  more  restlessness 
than  strength  in  the  expression,  perhaps,  but  there 
was  no  lack  of  energy,  a  quality  which,  when  it 
does  not  find  vent  in  a  congenial  activity,  is  apt  to 
produce  a  look  of  discontent.  Possibly,  too,  there 
might  be  a  dash  of  Indian  blood  in  the  Ralston 
family.  There  was  certainly  none  in  the  Lauder- 
dales.  John's  bright  brown  eyes  were  turned  upon 
his  work,  as  Alexander  passed  near  him,  but 
glanced  up  quickly  a  moment  later  and  saw  him. 
A  look  of  contempt  darkened  the  young  man's  feat 
ures  like  a  shadow,  and  was  instantly  gone  again. 
The  two  men  had  not  exchanged  half  a  dozen  words 
in  eighteen  months.  The  brown  eyes  went  back  to 
the  page,  and  the  sinewy,  nervous  hand  went  on 
writing,  and  the  straight,  smooth  hair  on  the  top  of 
Ralston's  head,  as  he  bent  over  the  desk,  became 
again  the  most  prominent  object,  for  its  extreme 
blackness,  in  that  part  of  the  office. 

Alexander  Junior  was  ushered  into  the  elder  Mr. 
Beman's  private  room,  by  a  grave  young  man  in  a 


86  I'HE  HALS  TONS. 

jacket  with  gilt  buttons.  The  name  of  Lander  dale 
was  a  passport  in  any  place  of  business  in  the  city. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  after  exchanging  a  few 
words  about  the  matter  which  had  brought  him 
there,  "you've  taken  back  that  young  cousin  of 
ours,  Jack  Ralston.  How's  the  fellow  getting 
on?" 

"  Ralston?  Oh,  yes  —  Mr.  Lauderdale  wanted 
him  to  try  again  —  yes  —  well,  he's  doing  pretty 
well,  I'm  told.  But  they  tell  me  he  can't  do  any 
thing,  though  he  wants  to.  Praiseworthy,  though, 
very  praiseworthy,  to  try  and  work,  when  he's  sure 
to  have  plenty  of  money  one  of  these  days.  I  like 
the  boy  myself,"  added  Mr.  Beman,  with  slightly 
increasing  interest.  "  He's  got  some  good  in  him, 
somewhere,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Does  he  keep  pretty  steady  ?  "  enquired  Alex 
ander  Junior.  "  You  knew  he  drank,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Drinks!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beman,  rather  in 
credulously.  "  Nonsense  —  don't  believe  it." 

Mr.  Beman  hated  society,  and  spent  many  of 
his  leisure  hours  in  a  club  chiefly  frequented  by 
old  gentlemen. 

"  Oh,  no  !  It's  quite  true,  I  assure  you.  I  thought 
you  knew,  or  I  wouldn't  have  mentioned  it  —  being 
a  relation.  I  hope  he  won't  make  a  fool  of  him 
self,  now  that  he's  with  you.  Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear  Lauderdale,"  answered 
the  banker,  cordially  shaking  hands. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  87 

Alexander  left  the  bank  and  returned  to  his  own 
office,  questioning  himself  by  the  way  concerning 
the  right  and  wrong  side  of  what  he  had  just  done, 
in  undermining  whatever  confidence  Mr.  Beman 
might  have  in  John  Ealston.  By  dint  of  moral 
exertion,  he  succeeded  in  inducing  his  Scotch  busi 
ness  instinct  to  admit  that  it  was  fair  to  warn  an 
old  friend  if  the  habits  of  a  young  man  he  had 
lately  taken  into  employment  were  not  exactly  what 
they  should  be.  He  resolutely  closed  his  eyes  to 
the  fact  that  he  had  waited  several  days,  until 
something  had  required  that  he  should  see  the 
banker,  in  order  to  ask  the  careless  question,  and 
that,  during  all  that  time,  Katharine's  obstinacy 
had  rankled  in  his  brooding  temper  like  an  unre- 
turned  blow.  He  did  not  wish  to  think,  either, 
that  he  had  perpetrated  a  small  act  of  indirect 
vengeance.  He  was  very  intent  upon  being  con 
scientious  —  it  would  not  do  even  to  remember  that 
any  under-thoughts  had  floated  through  his  brain 
beneath  the  current  which  he  desired  to  see. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  forget  it  all,  by  merely 
allowing  his  mind  to  turn  again  to  the  question  of 
his  uncle's  millions.  That  subject  had  a  fascina 
tion  which  never  palled.  If  he  is  to  be  excused  at 
all  for  this  and  many  other  things  which  he  subse 
quently  did,  his  excuse  must  be  stated  now,  or 
never. 

Let  this  one  fact  be  remembered,  for  the  sake  of 


88  THE  E ALSTONS. 

his  humanity.  He  had  spent  the  best  years  of  his 
life  in  the  inner  office  of  a  great  Trust  Company. 
That  alone  explains  many  things.  Having  origi 
nally  been  in  moderate  circumstances,  he  had  been 
brought  into  daily  contact  for  a  long  period  with 
the  process  of  hoarding  money.  He  had  seen 
how  sums,  originally  insignificant,  doubled  and 
trebled  themselves,  and  grew  to  fair  dimensions  by 
the  simplest  of  all  means,  —  by  being  kept  locked 
up.  He  had  not  been  by  nature  grasping,  nor 
covetous  of  the  goods  of  others  in  any  inordinate 
degree,  but  he  had  that  inborn  craving  for  the  actual 
money  itself,  for  seeing  it  and  touching  it,  and 
knowing  where  it  is,  which  makes  one  small  boy 
ask  his  father  for  a  penny  '  to  put  by  the  side  of 
the  other,'  while  his  brother  spends  his  mite  on  a 
sugar-plum,  eats  it,  and  runs  off  to  play.  Day  by 
day,  month  by  month,  year  by  year,  he  had  seen 
that  putting  of  one  penny  by  the  side  of  the  other 
going  on  under  his  eyes  and  personal  supervision. 
It  had  been  his  duty  to  see  that  the  pennies  stayed 
where  they  were  put.  It  is  not  strange  that,  with 
his  temperament,  he  should  have  done  for  himself 
what  he  did  for  others.  And  with  the  doing  of  it 
came  the  habit  of  secrecy,  which  belongs  to  the 
miser's  passion,  the  instinctive  denial  of  the  pos 
session,  the  mechanical  and  constantly  recurring 
avowal  of  an  imaginary  poverty.  All  that  came 
as  surely  as  the  dream  of  countless  gold,  to  be 


THE  It  ALSTON  8.  89 

counted  forever  and  ever,  with  the  absolute  cer 
tainty  of  never  reaching  the  end,  and  as  the  night 
mare  of  the  empty  safe,  more  real  and  terrible 
than  the  live  horror  of  the  waking  man  who  comes 
home  and  finds  that  the  wife  he  loves  has  left 
him. 

He  knew  that  hideous  scene  by  heart.  It  visited 
him  sometimes  with  no  apparent  cause.  He  knew 
how  in  the  night  —  he  always  dreamed  that  it  hap 
pened  at  night  —  he  went  to  his  own  box  in  the 
Safe  Deposit  Vault,  his  own  familiar  box,  as  in 
reality  he  went  regularly  twice  in  every  week.  He 
felt  the  thrill  of  secret,  heart-warming  anticipation 
as  he  came  near  to  it.  His  heart  began  to  beat  as 
it  always  did  then,  and  only  then,  giving  him  a 
queer,  breathless  sensation  which  he  loved,  and 
that  peculiar  thirsty  dryness  in  the  throat.  He 
turned  the  key,  he  pressed  the  spring,  and  out  it 
came  against  his  greedy,  trembling  hand  —  empty. 
At  that  point  he  awoke,  clutching  at  the  thin, 
tough  chain  by  which  the  real  key  hung  about  his 
neck.  His  worst  fear  for  years  had  been  to  dream 
that  dream  —  his  highest  pleasure  had  been  to  go, 
after  dreaming  it,  and  find  it  false,  the  drawer  full, 
all  safe,  the  good  United  States  Bonds  filed  away 
in  dockets  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  each, 
untouched  and  unfingered. 

He  knew  the  fascination,  the  dumb  horror,  the 
soul-uplifting  delight  of  a  great  passion,  of  one 


90  THE  R ALSTONS. 

which  is  said  to  be  the  last  and  greatest,  if  not  the 
worst,  that  plays  the  devil's  music  on  the  wrung 
heartstrings  of  men.  That  is  his  only  excuse  for 
what  he  did.  Dares  humanity  allege  its  humanity 
in  extenuation  of  its  humanity  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

BEFORE  John  Ralston  had  gone  back  to  Beman 
Brothers',  it  had  been  easy  enough  for  him  and 
Katharine  to  meet  in  the  course  of  the  day,  but 
the  difficulties  had  increased  unavoidably  of  late. 
Of  course  they  saw  each  other  in  society,  and 
as  members  of  the  same  tribe  they  were  often 
asked  to  the  same  parties,  though  that  was  by  no 
means  a  matter  of  certainty.  It  was  necessary  to 
have  a  fixed  understanding  which  should  enable 
them  to  be  sure  of  meeting  and  communicating 
with  one  another,  and  of  knowing  from  day  to  day 
whether  the  next  meeting  were  positively  certain 
or  not.  John's  hour  for  going  down  town  was 
fixed,  but  the  time  of  his  returning  was  not.  That 
depended  on  the  amount  of  work  there  chanced  to 
be  for  him.  at  the  bank,  —  sometimes  more,  some 
times  less. 

The  habits  of  the  Lauderdale  household  in  Clin 
ton  Place  were  also  very  exact.  Alexander  Junior 
took  charge,  as  it  were,  of  the  day,  as  soon  as  it 
appeared,  and  doled  it  out  in  portions.  Breakfast 
was  at  half  past  eight,  and  he  expected  his  wife 
and  daughter  to  make  their  appearance  in  time  to 
91 


92  THE  KALSTONS. 

see  him  at  least  finish  the  solid  steak  or  brace  of 
chops  with  which  he  fortified  himself  for  work. 
His  father  always  came  down  late,  in  order  to  be 
able  to  smoke  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  eating, 
without  annoying  any  one,  for  the  old  man  seemed 
to  subsist  largely  upon  tobacco  smoke  and  fresh 
milk  —  which  is  a  strange  mixture,  but  not  un 
healthy  for  those  who  are  accustomed  to  it.  That 
he  smoked  '  Old  Virginia  Cheroots '  at  two  cents 
each,  was  his  misfortune  and  not  his  fault.  Prac 
tically  he  lived  upon  his  son,  for  he  had  long  ago 
given  away  everything  he  possessed,  and  even  the 
old  house  had  passed  into  Alexander's  hands  —  for 
a  very  moderate  equivalent,  which  the  philanthro 
pist  had  already  spent  in  advance  upon  the  intro 
duction  of  a  new  heating  apparatus  in  his  favourite 
asylum.  Alexander  Junior  supplied  him  with  the 
necessaries  of  life,  and  by  almost  imperceptible 
degrees  of  change  had  at  last  substituted  the  che 
roots  for  the  fine  Havanas  to  which  his  father  had 
been  addicted  in  his  comparative  prosperity.  From 
time  to  time  the  old  man  made  a  mild  remark 
about  the  deterioration  of  cigars.  The  observations 
of  his  friends,  after  smoking  one  of  his,  were  less 
mild.  Alexander  Senior  attributed  the  change  to 
the  McKinley  Bill.  Alexander  Junior  did  not 
smoke.  He  left  the  house  every  morning  at  a 
quarter  past  nine,  before  the  fumigation  had  begun. 
Katharine  had  always  been  free  to  go  out  for  a 


THE  E ALSTONS.  93 

walk  alone  in  the  early  hours  since  she  had  been 
considered  to  be  grown  up,  and  she  took  advantage 
of  the  privilege  now  in  order  to  meet  John  Rals 
ton.  He  was  expected  to  be  at  the  bank  at  half 
past  nine,  and,  as  it  was  near  the  Rector  Street 
Station,  he  could  calculate  his  time  with  precision  if 
he  found  himself  near  a  station  of  the  elevated  road. 
He  and  Katharine  had  a  simple  system  of  sig 
nals.  John  came  down  to  Clinton  Place  by  the  Sixth 
Avenue  elevated,  and  got  out  at  the  corner.  Thence 
he  walked  past  the  Lauderdales'  house  to  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  crossed  Washington  Square  to  South 
Fifth  Avenue,  by  which  he  reached  the  Bleecker 
Street  Station  of  the  elevated  railway.  The  usual 
place  of  meeting  was  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Square.  If  Katharine  were  coming  that  morning 
there  was  something  red  in  her  window,  a  bit  of 
ribbon,  a  red  fan,  or  anything  she  chanced  to  pick 
up  of  the  required  colour.  John  could  see  it  at  a 
glance.  He,  on  his  part,  let  fall  a  few  seeds  or 
grains  on  the  well-swept  lower  step  of  the  house  as 
he  passed,  to  show  that  he  had  gone  by.  The  con 
vention  was  that  the  signal  should  consist  of  any 
kind  of  seed  or  grain.  If,  when  she  went  out, 
there  was  nothing  on  the  step,  which  very  rarely 
happened,  Katharine  went  back  into  the  house  and 
waited,  easily  finding  an  excuse  if  any  one  remarked 
her  return,  by  alleging  a  mismatched  pair  of  gloves, 
or  a  forgotten  parasol  or  umbrella. 


94  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

The  system  worked  perfectly.  Two  or  three 
grains  of  wheat,  or  -rice,  or  rye,  a  couple  of  pepper 
corns,  a  little  millet,  varied  daily,  according  to  the 
supply  John  had  in  his  pockets,  and  dropped  near 
one  end  of  the  step,  were  all  that  was  required,  for 
it  was  rarely  that  more  than  a  few  minutes  elapsed 
between  their  being  deposited  there  and  the  moment 
when  Katharine  saw  them.  Generally,  the  sparrows 
had  got  them  before  any  one  else  came  out.  The 
only  person  who  ever  noticed  the  frequent  presence 
of  seeds  of  some  kind  on  the  doorstep  was  the  old 
philanthropist,  who  made  illogical  reflections  upon 
the  habits  of  the  birds  that  brought  them  there,  as 
he  naturally  supposed. 

With  regard  to  the  place  of  meeting,  the  two 
changed  it  from  time  to  time,  or  from  day  to  day, 
as  they  thought  best.  Their  minutes  were  counted, 
as  John  could  not  afford  to  be  late  at  Beman 
Brothers',  and  sometimes  they  only  exchanged  a 
few  words,  agreeing  to  meet  in  the  evening,  or, 
since  the  spring  had  come,  after  John's  business 
hours.  Hitherto,  they  believed  that  none  of  their 
acquaintances  had  seen  them,  and  they  believed 
that  none  ever  would.  There  seemed  to  be  no  rea 
son  why  people  they  knew  should  be  wandering  in 
the  purlieus  and  slums  about  South  Fifth  Avenue 
and  Green  Street,  for  instance,  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  A  few  women  in  society  patronized 
the  little  foreign  shop  in  the  Avenue,  near  the 


THE  B  ALSTONS.  95 

Square,  where  artificial  flowers  were  made,  but  if 
they  ever  went  there  themselves,  it  was  much  later 
in  the  day. 

They  met  on  the  morning  after  Alexander  Junior 
had  spoken  to  Mr.  Beman  about  John.  The  latter 
was  standing  before  the  church  on  the  south  side 
of  Washington  Square,  puffing  at  the  last  end  of  a 
cigarette,  when  he  saw  Katharine's  figure,  clad,  as 
usual,  in  grey  homespun,  emerging  from  one  of  the 
walks  which  ended  opposite  to  him.  The  colour 
came  a  little  to  her  face  as  she  caught  sight  of  him. 

She  walked  quickly,  and  began  to  speak  before 
she  reached  him. 

"  Oh  Jack !  I  do  so  want  to  see  you ! "  She 
held  out  her  hand  as  he  lifted  his  hat. 

Their  hands  remained  clasped  a  second  longer, 
perhaps,  than  if  they  had  been  mere  acquaintances, 
and  their  eyes  were  still  meeting  when  their  hands 
had  parted. 

"  Yes  —  so  do  I,"  answered  Ralston,  with  small 
regard  for  grammar.  "  You  look  tired,  dear.  What 
is  it?" 

"  It's  this  life  —  I  don't  know  how  much  longer 
I  can  stand  it,"  answered  Katharine,  and  they 
began  to  walk  on. 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?  Has  your  father 
been  teasing  you  again  ?  "  John  asked,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  He  leaves  me  110  peace.  It's  a  suc 
cession  of  pitched  battles  whenever  we  meet.  He's 


96  THE  RALSTONS. 

made  up  his  mind  to  know  what  uncle  Robert  said 
to  me,  and  I've  made  up  mine  that  he  shan't. 
What  can  I  do  ?  Why,  Jack,  I  wouldn't  even  tell 
you ! " 

"I  don't  want  to  know,"  answered  Ralston. 
"  Uncle  Robert  isn't  going  to  die  for  twenty  years, 
and  I  hope  he  may  live  thirty.  Of  course,  when 
he  dies,  if  we're  alive,  we  shall  have  heaps  of 
money  all  round,  and  your  father  and  grandfather 
will  probably  get  the  biggest  shares.  But  there'll 
be  plenty  for  us  all.  Your  father  seems  to  me  to 
have  lost  his  head  about  it." 

"  He  really  has.  It's  the  same  thing  every  day. 
He  tells  me  that  I'm  all  kinds  of  things  —  un- 
dutiful,  and  impertinent,  and  intolerable  —  alto 
gether  a  perfect  fiend,  according  to  him.  Then  he 
threatens  me  —  " 

"  Threatens  you  ?  "  repeated  John,  with  a  quick 
frown  and  a  change  of  tone.  "  He'd  better  not ! " 

"  Well  —  he  says  that  he'll  find  means  to  make 
me  speak,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  don't  see 
myself  what  means  he  has  at  his  command,  I'm 
sure.  I  suppose  when  he's  angry  he  doesn't  know 
what  he's  saying.  So  I  try  to  smile  —  but  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  I  should  think  not !  But  as  you  say,  he  can't 
really  do  anything  except  talk.  He's  permanently 
angry,  though.  He  came  into  the  bank  yesterday 
and  passed  near  me.  I  saw  his  face." 


THE  RALSTONS.  97 

John  added  no  comment,  but  his  tone  expressed 
well  enough  what  he  felt. 

"  I  know,"  answered  Katharine.  "  He  always 
has  that  expression  now,  —  one  only  used  to  see  it 
now  and  then,  —  as  though  he  meant  to  have  some 
thing,  if  he  had  to  kill  somebody  to  get  it.  It's 
the  strangest  thing  !  He,  who  has  always  preached 
to  me  about  keeping  the  secret  of  other  people's 
confidence  !  It's  perfectly  incomprehensible !  It's 
as  though  his  whole  nature  had  suddenly  changed." 

"He's  wild  to  know  how  much  he's  to  have," 
observed  John,  thoughtfully.  "-It  attacked  him 
when  they  expected  uncle  Eobert  to  die.  And 
now  that  he  knows  that  you  know,  he  means  to 
wring  it  out  of  you.  I  hate  him.  I  should  like 
to  wring  his  neck." 

"Jack!" 

"  Oh,  well  —  of  course  he's  your  father,  and  I'm 
very  sorry  for  expressing  myself  —  all  the  same  — : 
he  finished  his  sentence  inwardly.     "  At  all  events, 
he's  got  to  treat  you  properly,  or  I  shall  interfere. 
This  can't  go  on,  you  know." 

"  You,  Jack  dear  ?     What  could  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  Take  you  away  from  him, 
of  course.  I'm  your  husband.  Don't  forget  that, 
Katharine." 

"No,  dear  — I'm  not  likely  to.  But  still  — I 
don't  see  —  nothing's  changed,  you  know.  The 
difficulties  are  just  the  same  as  they  ever  were." 

VOL.    I. 7 


98  LliE  RALSTON S. 

"Yes.  But  the  reasons  are  different.  I  can't 
allow  you  to  suffer.  You  know  that  after  all  that 
trouble  last  winter  my  mother  insisted  on  making 
over  half  the  property  to  me.  Of  course  things  go 
on  just  as  they  did,  and  we  share  everything.  But 
I've  got  it  all  the  same  —  six  thousand  a  year,  if 
I  choose  to  call  it  my  own.  The  reason  why  we 
don't  tell  everybody  that  we're  married  is,  first, 
because  it  would  make  such  an  incredible  row  in 
the  family,  and  secondly,  because,  as  my  mother 
and  I  have  so  little  between  us,  she  would  have  to 
reduce  ever  so  many  things  if  we  set  up  at  house 
keeping  with  her,  until  I  can  make  something.  As 
long  as  you're  happy  at  home,  that's  all  very  well. 
We're  young  enough  to  wait  six  months  or  a  year, 
though  we  don't  like  it,  and  I'm  going  in  for  earn 
ing  the  respect  of  the  Beman  Brethren  —  they're 
really  awfully  nice  to  me,  I  must  say.  Anything 
more  ignorant  than  I  am  you  can't  imagine  ! " 

"  Never  mind,  Jack  —  you're  learning,  at  all 
events,"  said  Katharine,  in  an  encouraging  tone. 
"  And  I  know,  dear  —  I  know  how  you  care  for  me, 
and  how  brave  you  are  to  wait  for  the  sake  of 
what's  nice  to  your  mother  —  " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  of  courage  !  It's  what  I  ought 
to  have  done  long  ago,  if  I  hadn't  been  a  born 
loafer  and  idiot.  But  if  things  are  going  to  be 
different  since  your  beloved  father  has  got  this 
idea  into  his  head,  if  he's  going  to  torment  you 


THE  RALSTONS.  99 

perpetually,  and  make  your  life  a  burden,  and  call 
you  bad  names  out  of  the  prayer-book  —  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know  —  why,  then,  we  must  just  do  it, 
that's  all  —  just  face  the  row,  and  the  economies, 
and  all,  and  you  must  come  to  my  mother's." 

"  But,  Jack  —  just  think  of  what  would  hap 
pen—  " 

"  Well  —  just  think  what's  happening  now.  It's 
much  worse,  I'm  sure,  and  if  it's  going  to  last,  I 
shall  just  do  it.  My  mother  always  says  that  she 
wishes  we  could  be  married.  Well  —  we  are  mar 
ried.  There's  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  tell  her 
so.  Besides,  for  her  part,  she'd  be  delighted. 
You  don't  know  her!  She's  just  like  a  man  in 
some  things.  She'd  put  up  with  anything —  boiled 
beef  and  cabbage,  and  a  horse-car  fare  on  Sundays 
by  way  of  an  outing.  Only,  of  course,  if  it  can 
possibly  be  helped,  I  don't  want  her  to  have  to 
pinch  and  screw  about  her  gloves,  and  her  cabs, 
and  the  little  things  she  likes  and  has  had  all  her 
life.  That's  why  I'm  working.  If  I  could  only 
get  a  salary  of  two  thousand  a  year,  we  could  man 
age.  I've  figured  it  all  out  —  it's  just  that  two 
thousand  that  would  make  the  difference  —  it's 
ridiculous,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"It's  worse,"  said  Katharine.  "It's  abomi 
nable." 

"Yes  —  it's  everything  you  like  —  or  don't  like, 
rather.  But  if  you're  going  to  suffer,  we  must  do 


100  THE  RALSTONS. 

as  I  say.  I'll  tell  you  how  we'll  manage  it. 
You'll  just  go  up  to  our  house  some  morning  about 
ten  o'clock,  and  go  out  of  town  with  my  mother  for 
a  few  days.  I'll  get  a  holiday  from  Beman's,  and 
I'll  go  and  see  your  mother  and  tell  her,  and  then 
I'll  go  down  town  and  face  your  father.  His  office 
is  a  nice,  quiet  place,  I  believe.  He's  nothing  much 
to  do  but  to  be  trusted,  and  he  sits  all  day  long  by 
himself  in  the  company's  showcase,  and  people 
trust  him.  That's  his  profession.  He  represents 
the  moral  side  of  business.  Once  I've  told  him, 
I'll  disappear  for  a  while,  —  going  to  you,  of  course, 
—  and  we  three  will  come  back  together  and  tell 
the  world  that  we've  been  quietly  married  —  which 
is  quite  true.  Lots  of  people  do  that  nowadays 
to  get  out  of  the  expense  and  fuss  of  a  dress  parade 
wedding.  How  does  that  strike  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  it's  clever  enough,  and  brave  of  you  —  as 
you  always  are  —  to  be  ready  to  face  the  parents 
alone.  We  shall  have  to  do  something  of  the  kind 
in  the  end,  you  know,  because  we  can't  be  married 
over  again.  Uncle  Robert  suggested  the  same  sort 
of  plan  last  winter;  only  he  wanted  us  to  go  to 
his  place  up  the  river,  and  he  was  going  to  ask  the 
whole  family.  The  dear  old  man  forgot  that  his 
servants  would  remember  for  the  rest  of  their  lives 
that  there  had  been  no  marriage  service.  It  wasn't 
practical." 

"By  the  bye,  where's  our  marriage  certificate?" 


THE  E ALSTONS.  101 

asked  John,  suddenly.  "  You  took  it,  you  know. 
You  never  told  me  what  became  of  it." 

"Oh,  uncle  Robert  said  he'd  keep  it  with  his 
papers.  I  suppose  it's  as  safe  there  as  anywhere. 
Still  —  if  he  were  to  die  —  " 

"It's  all  right,  if  he's  kept  it.  It  will  be  in  a 
safe  place,  properly  endorsed.  As  he's  the  only 
person  who  knows  the  secret,  he'd  much  better 
keep  it,  and  he's  not  at  all  likely  to  die  now  that 
he's  recovered.  I'd  been  meaning  to  ask  you  for 
ever  so  long.  But  to  go  back  —  if  things  get  any 
worse,  or  go  on  as  badly  as  they're  going  now,  do 
you  see  any  possible  objection  to  doing  what  I 
propose  ?  " 

"Well,  the  principal  objection  is  that  it  will 
hamper  your  mother,  Jack.  I'd  rather  suffer  a 
great  deal  more  than  I'm  likely  to,  than  thrust  my 
self  upon  her.  I  know  —  you'll  tell  me  that  she's 
very  fond  of  me  and  wants  to  see  us  married,  and 
I  know  she's  in  earnest  about  it  and  means  every 
word  she  says.  But  I've  lived  in  a  rigidly  eco 
nomical  household,  as  they  call  it.  I  know  what  it 
means,  and  it  would  be  very  difficult  for  any  one 
who's  never  been  used  to  it.  Don't  think  about  it, 
dear.  Please  don't.  You  know  I  come  to  you 
with  all  my  little  woes  —  but  you  mustn't  take 
them  too  seriously.  You'll  prevent  me  from  speak 
ing  freely  if  you  do,  dear." 

"It's  my  business  to  take  your  happiness  seri- 


102  THE  RALSTONS. 

ously.  I'm  not  prepared  to  stand  the  idea  of  hav 
ing  your  life  made  miserable  on  my  account." 

"But  it  isn't  about  you,  Jack.  It's  altogether 
about  the  question  of  uncle  Robert's  will." 

"  Never  mind.  I  won't  have  you  made  unhappy 
by  anybody,  do  you  understand?  I've  got  the  right 
of  loving  you,  and  the  right  of  being  your  husband, 
and  if  that  isn't  enough  I'll  take  the  right,  I'm  in 
earnest,  Katharine." 

He  stood  still  on  the  pavement;  she  stopped, 
also,  and  faced  him. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  know  and  I  thank  you,"  she  said, 
gently.  "  But  it  really  isn't  as  bad  as  I  made  out. 
I'm  irritated,  and  I  want  to  be  with  you  all  the 
time,  and  then  the  least  little  thing  seems  so  much 
bigger  than  it  is.  Please,  please  don't  do  anything 
rash,  Jack,  or  without  telling  me  just  what  you're 
going  to  do  !  You  know  you  are  rash,  dear  —  I'm 
always  a  little  afraid  of  what  you  may  do  when 
you're  angry." 

"I  certainly  shan't  be  rash  where  you're  con 
cerned,"  answered  Kalston.  "  You're  too  much  to 
me  —  we  are  to  each  other  —  and  we  mustn't  risk 
anything.  But  don't  imagine,  either,  that  if  any 
thing  goes  wrong  I  shan't  know  it,  even  if  you 
won't  tell  me.  I  can  guess  what  you  think  of 
from  your  face,  you  know  —  I've  often  done  it." 

"That's  true  —  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  conceal  any 
thing  from  you  for  long,"  answered  Katharine, 
womanly  wise. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  103 

She  was  concealing  something  from  him  at  that 
very  moment,  something  which  she  had  meant  to 
tell  him,  and  would  have  told  him,  had  he  not 
spoken  so  decidedly  of  what  he  meant  to  do  if  her 
life  were  made  unhappy.  But  she  knew  that  he  was 
quite  capable  of  doing  anything  which  he  said  he 
would  do,  no  matter  how  rash.  When  she  had 
at  first  spoken,  she  had  not  altogether  realized 
how  he  would  take  up  the  question  of  her  present 
unhappiness  as  a  matter  for  immediate  and  decisive 
action.  f  She  loved  him  all  the  better  for  it,  but 
she  began  to  understand  how  careful  she  must  be 
in  future. 

John  paused  a  moment  after  his  last  speech,  and 
looked  into  her  grey  eyes.  Perhaps  some  little 
doubt  assailed  him  as  to  whether,  if  she  tried,  she 
could  not,  perhaps,  keep  from  him  something  he 
wished  to  know  —  the  doubt  from  which  men  who 
love  are  very  rarely  quite  free. 

"But  promise  me,  Katharine,"  he  said,  presently, 
"promise  me  that  if  you  are  really  suffering  you 
will  tell  me,  instead  of  just  leaving  me  to  guess." 

"  Ah  —  you  see ! "  She  laughed  softly  and  hap 
pily.  "You're  not  so  sure  as  you  thought!  Oh, 
yes  —  I'll  tell  you  if  anything  dreadful  happens." 

"  You'd  better !  "  Ilalston  laughed,  too,  out  of 
sheer  delight  at  being  with  her,  and  his  laugh 
pleased  her,  for  it  came  rarely.  "  And  about  your 
father  —  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think.  His  excite- 


104  THE  RALSTONS. 

merit  will  cool  down  as  he  sees  that  uncle  Robert's 
getting  better,  and  he'll  leave  you  alone.  You  see, 
he'll  be  afraid  that  you'll  go  to  uncle  Robert  and 
say  that  you're  being  tormented  to  give  up  his 
secret.  And  then  uncle  Robert  will  descend  upon 
Clinton  Place  and  make  a  raid  and  raise  Cain  — 
and  there'll  be  something  to  pay  all  round  and  no 
pitch  particularly  hot.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

Katharine  laughed  again,  but  she  understood 
that  what  he  said  was  reasonable  enough. 

"Now  I  must  be  going,"  said  Ralston.  "I'm  so 
angry  about  it  all  that  I'm  on  the  verge  of  being 
funny,  which  isn't  in  my  line.  Can  you  come 
to-morrow  ?  Is  there  any  chance  of  seeing  you 
to-night?" 

"I  don't  know.  There's  a  little  thing  at  the 
Vanbmghs'  —  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Not  asked,  worse  luck ! " 

"  Then  I  won't  go.  How  stupid  of  them  not  to 
ask  you.  I  suppose  you  haven't  been  near  them 
for  months.  Have  you  ?  Confess  ! " 

"  How  can  I  do  the  card-leaving  business  now  that 
I'm  down  town  all  day  ?  It  isn't  fair  on  a  man. 
Besides,  the  Vanbrughs  needn't  be  so  particular. 
She's  nice,  though  —  much  nicer  since  she's  given 
up  Sunday-schooling.  The  last  time  we  talked  she 
knew  all  about  the  universe  and  the  Bab  faith  and 
the  life  everlasting  —  and  she  was  telling  every 
body.  She  hates  me  because  I  laughed.  By  Jove  ! 


THE  RALSTONS.  105 

I  must  be  going,  though.  To-morrow,  then  ?  As 
usual.  I  say,  Katharine  —  if  you  get  a  chance  to 
give  your  father  the  sharp  answer  that  wrath  par 
ticularly  dislikes,  I  hope  you  will  —  and  tell  me 
about  it.  Good-bye,  sweetheart  —  only  sixteen 
minutes  to  get  to  the  bank ! " 

(( You  did  it  in  fourteen  and  a  half  last  week, 
Jack,"  answered  Katharine,  holding  his  hand. 

"Yes  —  but  I  just  caught  the  train  —  I  wouldn't 
do  it  at  all,  if  I  could  help  it,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  not  —  I  mustn't  be  selfish.  Hun, 
dear  —  and  good-bye ! " 

In  a  moment  he  was  gone.  She  watched  his 
wiry,  elastic  movements  as  he  ran  at  the  top  of  his 
speed  towards  the  station  of  the  elevated,  to  the 
vicinity  of  which  they  had  directed  their  walk 
while  they  had  been  talking.  As  he  disappeared, 
flying  up  the  covered  iron  stairs,  two  steps  at 
a  time,  she  turned  and  walked  briskly  homeward. 
The  neighbourhood  is  a  safe  and  quiet  one,  though 
it  is  largely  inhabited  by  foreigners,  but  she  did  not 
care  to  slacken  her  pace  till  she  got  back  to  Wash 
ington  Square.  Then  she  moved  more  slowly. 

The  spring  was  in  the  air  and  the  sun  was  bright. 
She  sauntered  leisurely  through  the  walks,  wonder 
ing  what  the  coming  summer  was  to  bring  forth  for 
her,  and  all  the  months  after  people  began  to  go 
away.  And  she  thought  all  the  time  of  Ralston. 
It  seemed  such  an  absurd  and  senseless  thing  that 


106  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

they  two,  who  were  to  be  one  day  among  the  rich 
est,  and  would  be  masters  of  all  that  the  world  can 
give  to  people  not  endowed  with  what  is  not  in  the 
world's  gift  or  market  —  that  they  two,  being  law 
fully  and  christianly  married,  should  be  forced  to 
meet  by  stealth  for  a  few  moments,  to  be  separated 
again  almost  immediately  by  the  necessity  which 
drove  John  every  day  to  his  desk  as  a  junior  clerk 
in  Mr.  Beman's  employment.  A  week — a  year  — 
ten  years,  if  uncle  Robert  lived  so  long  —  and  then, 
if  John  went  into  the  bank,  the  clerks,  who  were  all 
his  seniors,  would  lift  their  pens  from  the  paper  in 
the  middle  of  a  word  to  watch  the  representative  of 
so  much  wealth  go  by.  And  old  Mr.  Beman  would 
rise  from  his  seat  and  offer  Twenty-Five  Millions 
a  chair,  as  though  he  were  a  man  of  years  and 
weight.  Not  but  that  the  Bemans  and  John's 
fellow-clerks,  some  of  whom  were  acquaintances 
in  his  own  world  and  beginning  their  life  as  he 
was,  were  all  well  aware  that  he  had  a  good  chance 
of  getting  something  handsome  in  the  end.  But 
mere  potential  wealth  is  too  common  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Wall  Street  to  be  noticed  or  much 
respected.  It  is  not  the  man  who  may  have  it, 
but  the  man  who  has  it,  who  commands  respect. 
Even  the  only  son,  the  man  who  is  sure  to  get 
it  if  he  lives,  is  treated  with  a  certain  indifference. 
But  when  time  has  brought  down  his  heavy  hand 
upon  the  millionaire,  and  crushed  him  into  the 


THE   R ALSTONS.  107 

earth-darkness  and  his  memory  into  a  bit  of  stone 
with  his  name  on  it,  when  the  last  well-greased 
screw  has  been  run  into  the  polished  coffin,  when 
the  black  horses  have  waved  their  black  plumes 
and  the  last  carriage  that  followed  the  funeral  is 
being  washed  down  in  the  coach-house  yard  —  then 
the  man  who  is  next  stops,  and  lets  future  run 
ahead  of  him  and  himself  becomes  present  fact, 
strong,  gorgeous,  worshipful.  For  at  his  mighty 
nod  the  wilderness  may  become  real  estate,  or  the 
secret  places  of  Nassau  Street  and  Exchange  Place 
may  be  hideous  with  the  groaning  of  the  bulls  he 
has  beared  out  of  the  ring  —  and 'the  solid  security 
may  to-morrow  be  wild-cat  if  he  wills  it,  and  the 
wild-cat  emerge  in  the  dawn  with  a  gilt  edge  and 
an  honest  countenance,  to  be  a  joyful  investment 
for  the  widow's  mite. 

Meanwhile,  Jack  was  nobody  down  town.  His 
cousin  Hamilton  Bright,  who  was  a  junior  partner 
in  Beman  Brothers',  was  a  vastly  more  important 
person  than  he.  For  he  had  behind  him  what 
Ealston  had  before  him,  and  a  fair  amount  of 
capital  in  the  present,  besides.  It  was  all  very 
ridiculous,  Katharine  thought,  and  depended  on 
the  false  state  of  society  in  which  she  was  obliged 
to  live. 

She  thought  bitterly  of  her  father.  He  was  a 
prominent  figure  in  that  false  state  —  a  man  of 
fine  principles  and  opportunist  practice  —  she 


108  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

had  caught  the  latter  expression  from  Walter 
Crowdie,  Bright's  brother-in-law,  the  well-known 
painter,  who  had  painted  a  portrait  of  her  during 
the  winter,  and  who,  as  the  husband  of  a  distant 
cousin,  was  counted  in  the  Lauderdale  tribe. 

Her  father,  she  thought,  preached,  prayed  — 
and  then  acted  far  worse  than  average  people  who 
prayed  little  and  sat  still  to  be  preached  at  on  Sun 
days,  in  order  that  Providence  might  have  a  sort  of 
weekly  photograph  of  their  souls,  so  to  say,  and 
because  others  did  the  same  and  it  was  expected  of 
them.  She  and  her  father  had  never  agreed  very 
well,  and  had  come  into  open  conflict  about  John 
Ralston;  but  hitherto  she  had  respected  him  for 
his  uncompromising,  unashamed  piety.  There  had 
seemed  to  her  to  be  something  masculine  and  bold 
about  it,  and  such  as  it  was,  she  had  believed  in  it. 
It  had  been  far  from  being  an  idol,  but  it  had  been 
a  very  creditable  statue,  so  to  say,  and  now,  on  a 
sudden,  the  head  had  been  knocked  off  it,  and  she 
saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  that  it  was  hollow  and 
a  sham.  She  was  too  young  yet  to  admit  the  pres 
ence  of  good  in  the  same  place  with  evil,  and  the 
evil  itself  had  been  thrown  directly  in  her  path  as 
a  stumbling-block  for  herself,  and  in  the  hope  that 
she  might  fall  over  it. 

And  as  though  it  were  not  enough  to  torment 
her  perpetually  with  questions,  there  was  that 
other  thing  which  she  had  just  concealed  from 


THE  RALSTONS.  109 

John,  because  he  had  been  so  angry  about  the  first. 
Her  father  and  mother  were  apparently  determined 
that  she  should  be  married  before  the  summer  was 
out,  and  were  thrusting  a  match  upon  her  in  a  way 
of  which  she  would  not  have  believed  them  capa 
ble.  Ever  since  her  mother  had  discovered  that 
she  was  losing  her  beauty  and  that  Katharine  re 
ceived  three-fourths  of  all  the  admiration  which  had 
once  been  hers,  the  relations  of  the  two  had  been 
changed.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  constantly  between 
two  conflicting  emotions,  which  almost  amounted 
to  passions,  —  her  real  affection  for  Katharine,  and 
her  detestable  envy  of  the  girl's  freshness  and 
youth.  She  was  a  good  woman,  and  she  despised 
herself  more  than  any  one  else  could  possibly  have 
despised  her,  for  wishing  that  she  might  not  be 
daily  compared  with  her,  handicapped,  as  she  was, 
with  nearly  twenty  years  more  to  carry.  To  marry 
her  daughter  was  to  remove  her  from  home,  and 
perhaps  from  New  York  —  and  with  her,  to  do 
away  with  the  foundation  of  envy,  the  cause  of 
the  offence,  the  visible  temptation  to  the  sin 
which  was  destroying  the  elder  woman's  happi 
ness  and  undermining  her  peace  of  mind.  Mrs. 
Lauderdale,  whose  sins  had  hitherto  been  few  and 
pardonable,  felt  that  if  Katharine  were  once  away, 
she  should  become  again  a  good  woman,  and  find 
courage  to  bear  the  terrible  loss  of  her  once  su 
preme  beauty. 


110  THE  RALSTONS. 

For  she  was  keenly  alive  to  the  wickedness  of 
what  she  felt,  though  she  could  not  quite  under 
stand  it.  No  man  could  boast  that  he  had  ever 
had  a  meaning  look  or  an  over-sympathetic  press 
ure  of  the  hand  from  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  during  the 
tive  and  twenty  years  of  her  married  life,  though 
she  had  loved  society  intensely,  and  enjoyed  its 
amusements  with  a  real  innocence  of  which  not 
every  woman  in  her  position  would  have  been 
capable.  But  no  man  who  had  laid  eyes  upon  her 
could  boast  —  and  it  would  have  been  a  poor  boast 
—  that  he  had  turned  away  at  the  first  glance, 
without  looking  again  and  wondering  at  her  love 
liness,  and  saying  to  himself  that  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  he  had  ever 
seen. 

It  hurt  her  bodily  to  miss  those  eyes  turned 
upon  her  from  all  sides,  as  she  began  to  miss  them 
now.  It  hurt  her  still  more  —  and  in  spite  of  secret 
prayers  and  solemn  resolutions  and  litanies  of  self- 
contempt,  she  turned  pale  with  quiet,  deadly  anger 
against  the  world  —  when,  as  she  entered  a  crowded 
room  with  Katharine,  she  felt,  as  well  as  saw,  that 
those  same  eyes  sought  the  pale,  severe  face  of  the 
dark-haired  young  girl,  and  overlooked  her  own 
fading  perfection.  The  stately  rose  was  drooping, 
just  as  the  sweet  white  summer  myrtle  burst  the 
bud. 

Let  her  not  be  judged  too  harshly,  if  she  longed 


THE  RALSTONS.  Ill 

to  be  separated  from  Katharine  just  at  that  time. 
There  was  no  ill-will,  nothing  like  hatred,  no  touch 
of  cruelty  in  the  simple  desire  to  be  spared  that 
daily  contrast.  It  was  rather  that  wish  which 
many  have  felt,  despairing  of  grace  and  strength 
to  resist  temptation,  to  have  the  cause  of  it 
removed,  that  they  may  find  peace.  A  worse 
woman  would  not  so  long  have  been  satisfied  with 
beauty  alone,  and  with  compelling  by  her  mere 
presence  the  admiration  of  a  crowd  in  which  no 
one  face  was  dearer  than  the  rest,  nor  than  it 
should  be. 

She  longed  with  all  her  heart  to  see  Katharine 
married,  as  her  husband  did  from  very  different 
reasons.  Nor  were  his  arguments  bad  or  unkind 
from  his  point  of  view.  He  feared  lest  she  should 
marry  Kalston  in  spite  of  him,  and  he  honestly 
believed  Ralston  to  be  a  worthless  young  fellow, 
who  could  make  no  woman  happy.  As  for  his 
daughter,  he  was  attached  to  her,  fond  of  her, 
perhaps,  in  his  cold  way ;  though  loving  with  him 
seemed  to  be  a  negative  affair  and  not  able  to  go 
much  further  than  a  cessation  of  fault-finding,  ex 
cept  for  his  wife,  who  had  overcome  him  and  kept 
him  by  her  beauty  alone.  It  was  not  until  Katha 
rine  aroused  the  deep-seated  passion  of  his  unsatis 
fied  avarice  that  he  ceased  to  be  kind  to  her,  as  he 
understood  kindness. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

KATHARINE  was  in  her  room  that  afternoon 
towards  five  o'clock,  when  a  servant  knocked  at 
her  door,  disturbing  her  as  she  was  composing  a 
letter  to  her  best  friend,  Hester  Crowdie.  She 
looked  up  with  an  expression  of  annoyance  as  the 
door  opened  and  the  maid  entered. 

"Oh  —  what's  the  matter?"  she  asked,  impa 
tiently  striking  the  point  of  her  pen  upon  the  edge 
of  the  glass  inkstand. 

"Mr.  Wingfield's  downstairs,  Miss  Katharine," 
answered  the  girl. 

"Oh  — is  he?     Well  —  " 

Katharine  tapped  her  pen  thoughtfully  upon  the 
glass  again,  and  a  quick  contraction  of  the  brow 
betrayed  her  displeasure. 

"  Shall  I  tell  the  gentleman  that  you'll  be  down, 
Miss  Katharine  ?  "  enquired  the  other. 

"No,  Annie.  Tell  him  I'm  out.  That  is  — I'm 
not  out,  am  I  ?  " 

"No,  Miss  Katharine." 

Katharine  let  her  pen  fall,  rose  and  went  to  the 
window  in  hesitation.  The  bit  of  red  ribbon 
which  had  served  as  a  signal  to  John  was  pinned 
112 


THE  RALSTONS.  113 

to  the  small  curtain  stretched  over  the  lower 
sash.  She  looked  at  it  thoughtfully,  and  forgot 
Mr.  Wingfield  for  a  moment. 

"  Shall  I  show  the  gentleman  into  the  library, 
Miss  Katharine  ? "  asked  Annie,  in  an  insinuating 
tone. 

"  Oh,  well !  Yes,"  said  Katharine,  turning  sud 
denly.  « Tell  Mr.  Wingfield  that  I'll  be  down  in 
a  few  minutes,  if  he  doesn't  mind  waiting.  I  sup 
pose  I've  got  to,"  she  added,  audibly,  before  Annie 
was  well  out  of  the  room. 

She  glanced  at  herself  in  the  looking-glass,  but 
without  interest.  Then  she  slipped  her  unfinished 
letter  into  the  drawer  of  the  little  writing-table  by 
the  window,  at  which  she  had  been  sitting,  and 
turned  towards  the  door.  But  before  she  left  the 
room  she  paused,  hesitated,  and  then  went  back 
to  the  table,  locking  the  drawer  and  withdrawing 
the  key,  which  she  slipped  behind  the  frame  of 
an  engraving.  She  had  become  unreasonably  dis 
trustful  of  late. 

Instead  of  going  down  to  the  library,  she 
knocked  at  the  door  of  her  mother's  morning 
room.  It  chanced  that  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  at 
home  that  afternoon,  which  was  unusual  in  fine 
weather.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  sitting  by  the 
window  at  the  table  she  used  for  her  miniature 
painting.  She  had  talent,  and  had  been  well 
taught  in  her  girlhood,  and  her  work  was  dis- 


114  THE  R ALSTONS. 

tinctly  good.  Amateurs  more  often  succeed  with 
miniature  than  in  any  other  branches  of  art.  It 
is  harder  to  detect  faults  when  the  scale  of  the 
whole  is  very  minute. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  bending  over  a  piece  of 
work  she  had  lately  begun.  All  the  little  things 
she  used  were  lying  about  her  on  the  wooden 
table,  the  tiny  brushes,  the  saucers  for  colours, 
the  needle-pointed  pencils.  She  looked  up  as 
Katharine  entered,  and  the  latter  saw  all  the 
lines  in  the  still  beautiful  face  accentuated  by 
the  earnest  attention  given  to  the  work.  The 
eyelids  were  contracted  and  tired,  the  lips  drawn 
in,  one  eyebrow  was  raised  a  little  higher  than  the 
other,  .so  that  there  were  fine,  arched  wrinkles  in 
the  forehead  immediately  over  it.  The  faces  of 
American  women  of  a  certain  age,  when  the  com 
plexion  is  fair,  favour  the  formation  of  a  multi 
tude  of  very  delicate  crossing  and  recrossing  lines, 
not  often  seen  in  the  features  of  other  nationalities. 

"  What  is  it,  child  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
quietly,  with  her  soft  southern  intonation. 

"  Mr.  Wingfield's  there  again,"  answered  Kath 
arine,  with  unmistakable  disgust. 

"Well,  my  dear,  go  down  and  see  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Lauderdale,  blandly.  "Did  you  send  word 
that  you'd  receive  ?  " 

"Yes.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  not  to  come  any 
more." 


THE  E  ALSTONS.  115 

Katharine  went  behind  the  table,  so  that  she 
faced  her  mother  and  looked  directly  into  her 
eyes.  For  several  seconds  neither  spoke. 

"I  hope  you  won't  do  anything  so  rude,"  said 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  at  last,  without  avoiding  the  gaze 
that  met  hers.  "  We  all  like  Mr.  Wingfield  very 
much." 

"  I  daresay.  I'm  not  finding  fault  with  him,  nor 
his  looks,  nor  his  manners,  nor  anything." 

"Well,  then  — I  don't  see  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,  mother,  —  forgive  my  contra 
dicting  you,  —  you  know  very  well  that  he  wants 
to  marry  me,  and  that  you  want  me  to  marry  him. 
But  I  don't  mean  to.  So  I  shall  tell  him,  as  nicely 
as  I  can,  to  give  up  the  idea,  and  to  make  his  visits 
to  you,  and  not  to  me." 

"  But,  Katharine,  dear  —  nobody  wishes  to  force 
you  to  marry  him.  We  don't  live  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  you  know." 

"There's  a  resemblance,"  answered  Katharine, 
bitterly. 

"  Katharine !  How  can  you  say  anything  so 
unjust ! " 

"Because  it's  true,  mother.  I'm  not  blind,  you 
know,  and  I'm  not  perfectly  insensible.  I  see,  and 
I  can  feel.  You  don't  seem  to  think  it's  possible  to 
hurt  me  —  and  I  don't  think  you  mean  to  hurt  me, 
as  papa  does." 

"  You're   quite   out    of    your   mind,    my   child ! 


116  THE  EALSTON8. 

Your  father  loves  you  dearly.  He  wouldn't  hurt 
you  for  the  world.  Don't  talk  such  nonsense, 
Katharine.  Go  and  see  Mr.  Wingfield,  and  be 
decently  civil  for  half  an  hour  —  he  won't  stay 
even  as  long  as  that.  Besides,  you  can't  tell 
him  not  to  come  any  more.  He  hasn't  asked  you 
to  marry  him.  You  may  think  he  means  to,  but 
you  can  hardly  take  it  for  granted  like  that." 

"  No,  but  he  means  to  ask  me  to-day,"  answered 
Katharine.  "And  I  haven't  encouraged  him  in 
the  least." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  one  can  always  tell." 

"It's  not  exactly  true  to  say  that  you've  not 
encouraged  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  thought 
fully.  "  He's  been  here  very  often  of  late,  and 
you've  danced  the  cotillion  with  him  twice,  at 
least.  Then  there  was  his  coaching  party  —  only 
the  other  day  —  and  you  sat  beside  him.  He's 
always  sending  you  flowers,  and  books,  and  things, 
too.  It  isn't  fair  to  say  that  he's  had  no  encour 
agement.  You'll  get  the  reputation  of  being  a 
flirt  if  you  go  on  in  this  way." 

"  I'd  rather  be  called  a  flirt  than  marry  Archi 
bald  Wingfield,"  replied  Katharine. 

"  At  all  events  you  might  have  some  considera 
tion  for  him,  if  you've  none  for  yourself.  Don't 
be  foolish,  Katharine  dear.  Take  my  advice.  Of 
course,  if  you  could  take  a  fancy  to  him,  quite 


THE  RALSTONS.  117 

naturally,  we  should  all  be  very  glad.  I  like  him 
—  I  can't  help  it.  He's  so  handsome,  and  has 
such  good  manners,  and  speaks  French  like  a 
Parisian.  I  know — you  may  laugh  —  but  in  these 
days,  when  people  are  abroad  half  the  time  —  and 
then,  after  all,  my  dear,  you  certainly  can't  be  really 
sure  that  he  means  to  ask  you  to-day.  Very  likely 
he  won't,  just  because  you  think  he's  going  to." 

"Of  course,  mother,  you  know  that's  absurd! 
As  though  it  wasn't  evident  —  besides,  those 
flowers  this  morning.  Didn't  you  see  them?", 

"  What  about  them  ?  He  often  sends  you 
flowers." 

"Why,  the  box  was  all  full  of  primroses,  and 
just  two  roses  —  extraordinary  ones  —  lying  in 
the  middle  and  tied  together  with  a  bit  of  grass. 
Imagine  doing  such  a  thing!  And  I  know  he 
tied  them  himself,  on  account  of  the  knot.  He's 
a  yachting  man,  and  doesn't  tie  knots  like  the  men 
at  the  flower  shops." 

"  Oh,  well,  my  dear  —  if  you  are  going  to  judge 
a  man  by  the  way  he  ties  knots  —  " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  laughed  as  she  broke  off  in  her 
incomplete  sentence.  Then  her  face  grew  grave 
all  at  once. 

"  Take  my  advice,  my  child  —  marry  him,"  she 
said,  bending  over  her  table  once  more  and  taking 
up  a  little  brush,  as  though  she  wished  to  end  the 
interview. 


118  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

"Certainly  not!"  answered  Katharine,  in  a  tone 
which  discouraged  further  persuasion. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  sighed. 

"Well  —  I  don't  know  what  you  young  girls 
expect,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  depression.  "  Mr. 
Wingfield's  young,  good-looking,  well-educated, 
rich,  and  he  adores  you.  Perhaps  you  don't  love 
him  precisely,  but  you  can't  help  liking  him.  You 
act  as  though  you  were  always  expecting  a  fine, 
irresistible,  mediaeval  passion  to  come  and  carry 
you  off.  It  won't,  you  know.  That  sort  of  thing 
doesn't  happen  any  more.  When  you  want  to  get 
married  at  last,  you'll  be  too  old.  You  have  your 
choice  of  almost  any  of  them.  For  a  girl  who  has 
no  money  and  isn't  likely  to  have  much  for  a  long 
time,  I  don't  know  any  one  who's  more  surrounded 
than  you  are.  Of  course  I  want  you  to  marry.  I 
don't  believe  in  waiting  till  you're  twenty-five  or 
thirty." 

"  I  don't  intend  to." 

"Well,  you  will,  my  dear,  unless  you  make  up 
your  mind  soon.  It's  all  —  " 

"  Mother,"  interrupted  Katharine,  "  you  know 
very  well  that  I've  made  my  choice,  and  that  I 
mean  to  stand  by  it." 

"  Oh  —  Jack  Kalston,  you  mean  ?  "  Mrs.  Lauder 
dale  affected  a  rather  contemptuous  indifference. 
"  That  was  a  foolish  affair.  Girls  always  fall  in 
love  with  their  cousins.  You'll  forget  all  about 


THE  RALSTONS.  119 

him,  and  I'm  sure  he's  forgotten  all  about  you. 
He  hardly  ever  comes  to  the  house  now.  Besides, 
you  never  could  have  married  poor  Jack,  with  his 
dissipated  habits,  and  no  money.  Uncle  Robert 
doesn't  mean  to  leave  him  anything.  He'd  gamble 
it  all  away." 

"You  called  me  unjust  a  moment  ago,"  said 
Katharine,  in  an  altered  voice,  and  growing  pale. 

"  Of  course  —  you  take  his  part.  It's  no  use  to 
discuss  it  —  " 

"It's  not  discussion  to  abuse  a  man  who's  bravely 
doing  his  best.  Jack  doesn't  need  any  one  to  take 
his  part.  Do  you  know  that  he's  altogether  given 
up  his  old  life  at  the  club  —  and  all  that  ?  He's 
at  Beman  Brothers'  all  day  long,  and  when  you 
don't  see  him  in  society,  he's  quietly  at  home  with 
cousin  Katharine." 

"Yes  —  I  heard  he  was  doing  a  little  better. 
But  he'll  never  get  rid  of  the  reputation  he's  given 
himself.  My  dear,  you  don't  seem  to  remember 
that  poor  Mr.  Wingfield  is  waiting  for  you  all  this 
time  downstairs." 

"  It  will  be  the  last  time,  at  all  events,"  answered 
Katharine,  in  a  low  voice.  "I'll  never  see  him 
alone  again." 

She  turned  from  her  mother  towards  the  door. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  followed  her  with  her  eyes  for  a 
moment,  then  rose  swiftly  and  overtook  her  before 
she  could  let  herself  out. 


120  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  Katharine  —  I  won't  let  you  send  Mr.  Wing- 
field  away  like  that ! "  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  in  a 
quick,  decided  tone. 

"  Won't  let  me  ?  "  repeated  Katharine,  slowly. 

"No  —  certainly  not.  It's  quite  out  of  the  ques 
tion  —  you  really  mustn't  do  it ! "  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
was  becoming  agitated. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it's  out  of  the  question  for 
me  to  refuse  to  marry  Mr.  Wingfield  ?  "  Katharine 
had  her  back  against  the  door  and  her  right  hand 
upon  the  knob  of  the  lock. 

"  Oh  —  well  —  no.  Of  course  you  have  the  right 
to  refuse  him,  if  he  asks  you  in  so  many  words  — " 

"  Of  course  I  have  !  What  are  you  thinking  of?" 
There  was  a  look  of  something  between  indignation 
and  amusement  in  her  face. 

"Yes  —  but  there  are  so  many  ways,  child. 
Katharine,"  she  continued,  almost  appealingly, 
"you  can't  just  say  'no'  and  tell  him  to  stop 
coming — you'll  change  your  mind  —  you  don't 
know  what  a  nice  young  fellow  he  is  —  " 

Katharine's  hand  dropped  from  the  door-handle, 
and  she  folded  her  arms  as  she  faced  her  mother. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?  "  she  asked,  deliberately  and 
with  emphasis.  "  You  seem  to  me  to  be  very  ex 
cited.  I  should  almost  fancy  that  you  had  some 
thing  else  in  your  mind,  though  I  can't  understand 
what  it  is." 

"No  —  no;   certainly   not.     It's   only   for   your 


THE  EALSTONS.  121 

sake  and  his,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  hurriedly. 
"  I've  known  it  happen  so  often  that  a  girl  refuses 
a  man  just  because  she's  in  a  temper  about  some 
thing,  and  then  —  afterwards,  you  know  —  she 
regrets  it,  when  it's  too  late,  and  the  man  has 
married  some  one  else  out  of  spite." 

"How  strangely  you  talk!"  exclaimed  Katha 
rine,  gazing  at  her  mother  in  genuine  surprise. 

"  My  dear,  I  only  don't  want  you  to  do  anything 
rash  and  unkind.  You  spoke  as  though  you  meant 
to  be  as  hard  and  cold  as  a  mill-stone  —  as  though 
he'd  done  something  outrageous  in  wanting  to  marry 
you." 

"Not  at  all.  I  said  that  I  should  refuse  him  and 
beg  him  to  stop  coining  to  see  me.  There's  noth 
ing  particularly  like  a  mill-stone  in  that.  It's  the 
honest  truth  in  the  first  place  —  for  I  won't  marry 
him,  and  you  can't  force  me  to  —  " 

"But  nobody  thinks  of  forcing  you  —  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  not,"  answered  the 
young  girl,  doubtfully.  "  But  it's  of  no  use,  for  I 
won't.  And  as  for  telling  him  not  to  come  —  why, 
it's  rather  natural,  I  think.  It  just  makes  the  re 
fusal  a  little  more  definite.  I  don't  like  that  way 
girls  have  of  refusing  a  man  once  a  month,  and 
letting  him  come  to  see  them  for  a  whole  season, 
and  then  marrying  him  after  all.  There's  some 
thing  mean  about  it  —  and  I  don't  think  much  of 
the  man  who  lets  himself  be  treated  in  that  way, 


122  THE  RALSTONS* 

either.  If  Mr.  Wingfield  is  really  all  you  say  he 
is,  he  may  not  be  just  that  kind,  and  he'll  under 
stand  and  take  his  refusal  like  a  gentleman,  and 
not  torment  me  any  more.  But  it's  just  as  well 
to  make  sure." 

"  Promise  me  that  you'll  be  kind  to  him,  Katha 
rine  —  " 

"Kind?  Oh,  yes  — I'll  be  kind  enough.  I'll 
be  perfectly  civil  —  " 

"  Well  —  what  shall  you  say  to  him  ?  That  you 
like  him,  and  hope  to  be  good  friends,  but  that  you 
don't  feel  —  " 

"  Dear  mother  !  "  exclaimed  Katharine,  with  per 
fect  simplicity,  "  I've  refused  men  before.  1  know 
how  to  do  it." 

"  Yes  —  of  course  —  but  Mr.  Wingfield  —  " 

"You've  got  Mr.  Wingfield  on  the  brain, 
mother!"  She  laughed  a  little  scornfully.  "One 
would  think  that  you  were  his  mother,  and  were 
begging  me  to  be  kind  and  nice  and  marry  your 
son.  I  don't  understand  you  to-day.  Meanwhile, 
he's  waiting." 

"  One  moment,  child ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale,  laying  her  hand  on  Katharine's  as  it  went  out 
towards  the  knob  of  the  door.  "  You  don't  know 
—  there  are  particular  —  well,  there  are  so  many 
reasons  why  you  shouldn't  be  rough  with  him. 
Can't  you  just  say  that  you're  touched  by  his  pro 
posal  and  will  think  it  over  ?  " 


THE  EALSTONS.  123 

"  Certainly  not !  "  cried  Katharine,  indignantly. 
"  Why  should  I  keep  the  poor  man  hanging  on  when 
I  don't  mean  to  marry  him  —  when  I  won't  —  I've 
said  it  often  enough,  I'm  sure.  Why  should  I  ?  " 

"It  would  be  so  much  easier  for  him,  if  you 
would  —  to  please  me,  darling  child,"  continued 
Mrs.  Lauderdale,  in  an  almost  imploring  way,  "just 
to  please  me  !  I  don't  often  ask  you  to  do  anything 
for  me,  do  I,  dear  ?  And  you're  not  like  Charlotte 
—  we've  always  been  such  good  friends,  love.  And 
now  I  ask  you  this  one  thing  for  myself.  It  isn't 
much,  I'm  sure  —  just  to  say  that  you'll  think  it 
over.  Won't  you?  I  know  you  will — there's  a 
dear  girl ! " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  bent  her  head  affectionately 
and  kissed  Katharine  on  the  cheek.  The  young 
girl  tried  to  draw  back,  but  finding  herself  against 
the  door,  could  only  turn  her  face  away  as  much  as 
possible.  She  did  not  understand  her  mother's 
manner,  and  she  did  not  like  it. 

"But  it's  only  a  moment  ago  that  you  were 
talking  about  my  acting  like  a  flirt ! "  she  objected, 
vehemently.  "  If  it  isn't  flirting  to  give  a  man 
hope  when  there  is  none,  what  is  ?  " 

"No,  dear;  that's  not  flirting;  it's  only  pru 
dence.  You  may  like  him  better  by  and  by,  and  I 
should  be  so  glad !  Flirting  is  drawing  a  man  on 
as  you've  done  with  him,  and  then  throwing  him 
over  cruelly  and  all  at  once." 


124  THE  E ALSTONS. 


"  I've  not  drawn  him  on,  mother  !  You  shan't 
say  that  I  ever  encouraged  him." 

"  I  don't  know.  You've  accepted  his  flowers  and 
his  books  —  " 

"  What  was  I  to  do  ?     Send  them  back  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  told  him  not  to  send  so  many, 
and  so  often;  you  needn't  have  read  the  books. 
He'd  have  seen  that  you  didn't  care." 

"  Oh,  this  is  ridiculous,  you  know  ! " 

"  No,  it's  not,  my  darling !  And  as  for  the 
flowers,  of  course  you  couldn't  exactly  send  them 
back,  but  you  weren't  obliged  to  wear  them." 

"  Nobody  wears  flowers  now,  so  it  wasn't  prob 
able  that  I  should  feel  obliged  to.  Eeally,  mother, 
you're  losing  your  head  ! " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  shifted  her  position  a  little, 
moving  towards  the  side  of  the  door  on  which  the 
lock  was  placed,  and  laying  her  hand  affectionately 
on  Katharine's,  as  though  still  to  detain  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I'd  forgotten  that  we  don't 
wear  flowers  any  longer.  But  that  isn't  the  ques 
tion,  dear.  I  only  ask  you  not  to  send  him  away 
suddenly,  with  a  l  no '  that  can't  possibly  be  taken 
back.  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  that  you'll  hurt  the 
poor  fellow,  and  I  can't  help  feeling  that  he  has 
reason  —  that  you've  given  him  reason  to  expect 
that  you'll  at  least  consider  the  question.  Dear 
child,  I  only  ask  you  this  once.  Won't  you  do  it 
to  please  me  ?  We're  all  so  fond  of  Wingfield  —  " 


THE  K  ALSTONS.  125 

"But  why  ?  why  ?  If  I  don't  mean  to  have  him, 
how  can  I  ?  I  really  can't  understand.  Is  there 
any  family  reason  for  being  so  particular  about 
Mr.  Wingfield's  feelings  ?  We've  never  been  so 
very  intimate  with  his  people." 

"Reasons,"  repeated  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  absently. 
"Reasons?  Well,  yes — but  it  isn't  that  —  "  She 
stopped  short. 

"Mother!"  Katharine  looked  keenly  into  her 
face.  "You've  been  talking  to  him  yourself!  I 
can  see  it  in  your  eyes  !  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  Oh, 
no  —  what  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

But  she  looked  away,  and  Katharine  saw  the 
blush  of  confusion  rising  under  the  transparent 
skin  in  her  mother's  cheek. 

"Yes  —  you've  given  Mr.  Wingfield  to  under 
stand  that  I'm  in  love  with  him,"  said  Katharine, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Katharine,  how  can  you!"  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
was  making  a  desperate  effort  to  recover  herself, 
but  she  was  a  truthful  woman,  and  found  it  hard 
to  lie.  "  You've  no  right  to  say  such  things  !  " 

"  Yes  —  I  see,"  answered  Katharine,  not  heeding 
her.  "  It's  all  quite  clear  to  me  now.  You  and 
papa  have  drawn  him  on  and  encouraged  him,  and 
now  you're  afraid  that  I  shall  put  you  in  an  awk 
ward  position  by  sending  him  away.  I  see  it  all. 
That's  the  reason  why  you're  so  excited  about  it." 


126  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

"Katharine,  dear,  don't  accuse  me  of  such 
things!  All  I  said  was—  She  stopped  short. 

"Then  you  did  say  something?  Of  course.  I 
knew  that  was  the  truth  of  it !  " 

"I  said  nothing,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
going  back  to  a  total  denial.  "Except,  perhaps, 
we  have  given  him  to  understand  that  we  should 
be  glad  if  you  would  marry  him." 

"  We  ?  Has  papa  been  talking  to  him,  too  ?  " 
asked  Katharine,  indignantly. 

"Don't  be 'so  angry,  child.  It's  quite  natural. 
You  don't  know  how  glad  your  father  would  be. 
It's  just  the  sort  of  match  he's  always  dreamed 
of  for  you.  And  then  I  think  it  was  very  honour 
able  in  young  Wingfield,  when  he  found  that  he 
was  in  love  with  you,  to  speak  to  your  father 
first." 

"Scrupulously!  He  might  be  French!  He 
might  have  tried  to  find  out  first  whether  I  cared 
for  him  at  all.  But  I've  no  doubt  you  told  him 
that  he  had  only  to  ask  and  I  should  take  him  to 
my  heart  with  pride  and  pleasure!  Oh,  mother, 
mother !  You  never  used  to  act  like  this  ! " 

"  But,  my  dear  child  —  " 

"  Oh  no,  —  don't  call  me  your  dear  child  like 
that  —  it  doesn't  mean  anything  now.  You're 
completely  changed  —  no,  don't  keep  me  !  That 
poor  fellow's  waiting  all  this  time.  You  can't 
have  anything  more  to  say  to  me,  for  I  know  it 


THE  RALSTONS.  127 

all.  A  word  more  —  which  you  may  have  said  to 
him,  or  a  word  less  —  what  does  it  matter  ? 
You've  turned  on  me,  and  now  you're  doing 
your  best  to  marry  me,  just  to  get  rid  of  me. 
As  for  papa,  he  leaves  me  no  peace  about  poor 
uncle  Robert's  will.  And  he  calls  himself  an 
honest  man,  when  he's  trying  to  force  a  confidence 
that  doesn't  belong  to  him,  out  of  —  yes  —  out  of 
sheer  love  of  money.  Oh,  it's  not  to  be  believed ! 
Let  me  go,  mother !  I  won't  keep  that  man  wait 
ing  any  longer.  It  isn't  decent.  There'll  be  One 
lie  less,  at  all  events  !" 

"  Katharine,  dear !  Stay  a  minute  !  Don't  go 
when  you're  angry  —  like  this  !  " 

But  Katharine's  firm  hand  was  opening  the  door 
in  spite  of  her  mother's  gentle,  almost  timid, 
resistance. 

"  No  —  I'm  not  angry  now,"  answered  the  young 
girl.  "  It's  something  different  —  I  won't  hurt 
him  —  never  fear !  " 

In  a  moment  she  had  left  the  room,  and  her 
mother  heard  the  quick  footfall  on  the  stairs,  as 
she  stood  listening  by  the  open  door.  Mrs.  Lau- 
derdale  had  got  herself  into  terrible  trouble,  and 
she  knew  it.  Katharine  had,  in  part,  guessed 
rightly,  for  if  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  not  told  young 
Wingfield  in.  so  many  words  that  her  daughter 
loved  him,  she  had  yet  allowed  him  to  think  so, 
and  had  been  guilty  of  a  sin  of  omission  in  not 


128  THE  RALSTONS. 

undeceiving  him.  There  is  a  way  of  listening 
which  means  assent,  as  there  is  a  way  of  assenting 
in  words  which  mean  a  flat  refusal.  Alexander 
Lauderdale  had  gone  farther.  He  had  distinctly 
told  Wingfield,  in  his  wife's  presence,  that  he  had 
no  reason  to  believe  that  his  daughter  might  not,  — 
he  saved  his  scrupulous  conscience  by  the  '  might,' 
—  might  not  ultimately  accept  a  proposal  which 
was  so  agreeable  to  his  own  wishes.  Mrs.  Lauder 
dale  had  been  shocked,  for,  as  it  was  spoken,  the 
phrase  sounded  very  untrue,  though  when  precipi 
tated  upon  paper  and  taken  to  pieces,  it  is  found 
to  be  cautious  enough.  '  Might,'  not  '  would '  — 
and  '  ultimately,'  not  by  any  means  at  the  iirst 
attempt.  Yet  the  impression  had  been  conveyed 
to  Wingfield's  mind  that  Katharine  was  predis 
posed  in  his  favour,  in  spite  of  the  reports  which 
had  so  long  been  circulated  about  her  engagement 
to  Kalston.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had,  for  a  moment, 
almost  believed  that  her  husband  had  told  an  un 
truth.  But  on  talking  the  matter  over  with  him, 
his  dignity  of  manner,  his  clear  recollection  of 
his  own  words,  and  the  moderate  stress  which  he 
laid  upon  the  ' might'  and  the  'ultimately,'  not 
only  reassured  her,  but  persuaded  her  to  say 
almost  the  same  thing  the  next  time  she  saw 
Wingfield.  The  young  fellow  always  sought  her 
out  at  a  party,  and  confided  to  her  all  he  felt 
for  Katharine,  and  Mrs.  Lauderdale  sympathized 


THE  EALSTONS.  129 

with  him,  as  she  had  once  sympathized  with  Jack 
Ralston,  unconscious  that  she  was  doing  any 
thing  wrong.  He  was  handsome,  frank,  and  win 
ning,  and  she  longed  to  see  Katharine  married. 
The  reasons  were  plenty.  Many  cold  and  good 
women  enjoy  being  made  the  confidantes  of  young 
lovers.  The  atmosphere  of  the  passion  is  agree 
able  to  them,  though  they  may  know  little  of  the 
passion  itself.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  not  fully 
realized  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  been  doing 
until  Katharine  made  it  plain  to  her  that  after 
noon.  And  then,  although  her  conscience  told 
her  that  she  was  in  the  wrong,  and  though  she 
had  spoken  to  the  girl  entreatingly  and  gently, 
she  became  angry  with  her  as  soon  as  she  was 
left  to  herself.  The  tortuousness  of  a  good 
woman's  mind  when  she  has  hurt  her  own  con 
science  surpasses  by  many  degrees  that  of  an  or 
dinary  criminal's  straightforwardly  bad  ingenuity. 
Meanwhile,  Katharine  descended  to  the  library, 
paused  a  moment  in  the  entry,  and  then  opened 
the  door.  Archibald  Wingfield's  black  eyes  met 
her  as  she  entered  the  room.  He  was  standing 
before  the  empty  fireplace,  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  warming  them  perhaps  at  an  imaginary  fire, 
for  they  were  cold.  He  was  very  much  in  love 
with  her,  and  Katharine's  girlish  instinct  was 
right,  for  he  had  come  with  the  determined  pur 
pose  of  asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  had  kept 

VOL.    I. G 


130  THE  R ALSTONS. 

him  waiting  fully  twenty  minutes,  and  during  that 
time  he  had  interpreted  the  delay  in  at  least  as 
taany  different  ways.  As  she  came  in,  the  colour 
rose  in  his  brown  cheeks  and  his  heart  beat  fast. 

Archibald  Wingfield  was  said  to  be  the  hand 
somest  young  man  in  New  York  society,  which  is 
saying  a  good  deal,  notwithstanding  those  captious 
persons  who  write  and  speak  sarcastically  about 
the  round-shouldered,  in-kneed,  flabby-cheeked 
youth  of  the  present  day.  Of  late  years,  during 
the  growth  of  what  is  now  the  young  generation 
in  society,  there  has  been  a  very  sudden  improve 
ment  in  the  race  and  type  of  boys  and  girls.  Any 
one  can  see  that  who  does  not  wilfully  close  his 
eyes. 

Wingfield  stood  fully  six  feet  four  inches  with 
out  his  shoes,  was  broad-shouldered,  deep-chested, 
and  thin-waisted  as  a  young  Achilles.  His  feet 
were  narrow,  strong,  and  straight,  his  legs  those 
of  a  runner  rather  than  a  walker,  his  hands  broad 
and  brown,  with  great,  determined-looking  thumbs, 
marked  sinews,  and  the  high,  blue  veins  of  a  thor 
ough-bred  animal.  The  splendid  form  was  topped 
by  a  small,  energetic  head,  with  slightly  aquiline 
features,  the  clean-shaven  lips  that  made  a  bold, 
curved,  bow-like  mouth,  flat,  healthy,  brown  cheeks, 
a  well-rounded  chin,  deepened  in  the  middle  with 
the  depression  which  is  nature's  hall-mark  on  su 
perior  physical  beauty  —  a  moderately  full  fore- 


THE  RALSTONS.  131 

head,  very  small  ears,  jet  black,  short,  smooth  hair, 
and  wide,  honest  black  eyes  with  rough  black  eye 
brows.  Under  the  brown  colour  there  was  rich 
bloodj  that  mantled  like  scarlet  velvet  in  summer's 
dusk. 

He  spoke  in  a  low,  self-possessed,  unaffected 
voice,  with  an  English  accent,  common  enough 
to-day  among  young  men  who  have  been  much 
abroad  during  their  education.  Wingfield  had 
been  at  Christ  Church,  had  got  his  degree  in  the 
ordinary  course,  and  was  hesitating  as  to  his 
future  career  between  the  law,  for  which  he  was 
now  reading,  and  a  country  life  of  gentleman  farm 
ing  and  horse-breeding  in  western  New  York,  which 
attracted  him.  His  people  were  all  rich,  all  good- 
looking,  and  all  happy.  His  ideals  were  chiefly  in 
his  own  family.  When  he  had  returned  from  Eng 
land,  he  had  been  something  of  a  hero  among  the 
young,  owing  to  his  having  pulled  five  in  the  Oxford 
boat  when  the  latter  had  won  the  University  race 
in  the  previous  spring,  a  very  unusual  distinction 
for  a  foreign-born  athlete  in  England.  With  his 
great  height,  he  was  still  proud  of  having  trained 
to  twelve  stone  eleven  for  the  race. 

In  the  matter  of  outward  advantages  John  Rals- 
ton's  spare  figure  and  lean,  Indian  face  could  not 
compare  favourably  with  such  a  man  as  Archibald 
Wingfield.  Nor  had  Wingfield's  reputation  borne 
the  strain  and  the  shocks  which  John's  had  barely 


132  THE  RALSTONS. 

survived.  The  man  seemed  born  to  success,  hap 
piness  and  popularity,  as  many  of  his  family  had 
been  successful,  popular  and  happy  before  him. 
He  himself  believed  that  all  he  needed  in  order 
to  be  happier  than  any  of  them  was  to  get  Katha 
rine  Lauderdale's  consent  to  be  his  wife.  And  he 
loved  her  so  much,  and  was  so  nervous  in  the  anti 
cipation  of  what  was  to  come,  that  his  hands  had 
turned  cold,  his  healthy  heart  was  bouncing  like 
a  football  in  his  big  chest,  the  blood  rushed  to  his 
brown  cheeks,  and  he  almost  dropped  his  silk  hat 
as  she  entered  the  room. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lauderdale  ?  " 

He  came  forward  with  a  gigantic  stride,  and 
then  suddenly  made  a  short  little  step,  as  he  found 
himself  already  close  to  her. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  asked,  quietly  repeating 
the  inane  question  we  have  adopted  as  a  form  of 
greeting  and  recognition. 

She  looked  up  —  far  up,  it  seemed  to  her — into 
his  brilliant  black  eyes,  and  understood  how  much 
in  earnest  he  was,  before  he  said  anything  more. 
Vaguely,  as  in  a  dream,  she  remembered  how,  sev 
eral  months  earlier,  in  that  very  room  and  almost 
at  that  very  hour,  John  Ralston  had  come  to  her 
and  she  had  persuaded  him  to  make  her  his  wife. 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  the  flowers,"  she  said, 
sitting  down  in  her  favourite  little  arm-chair  on  one 
side  of  the  empty  fireplace. 


THE  BALSTONS,  133 

He  murmured  in  a  pleased  but  incoherent  fash 
ion  as  he  pushed  a  chair  into  a  convenient  position 
and  sat  down — not  too  near  her  —  setting  his  hat 
upon  the  floor  beside  him.  He  rested  his  two 
elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin  on  his  folded 
hands,  and  looked  at  her  with  unblushing,  boyish 
admiration. 

"But  please  don't  send  me  any  more  flowers, 
Mr.  Wingfield,"  said  Katharine,  going  straight  to 
the  point  by  an  effort  of  will. 

A  puzzled  look  came  into  his  face  instantly. 
His  hands  dropped  upon  his  knees,  and  he  sat 
upright  in  his  chair. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  simply.  "  I  mean,"  he 
added,  fancying  he  had  put  the  question  roughly, 
"is  it  rude  to  ask  why  not?  It  gives  me  so 
much  pleasure — if  you  like  them  a  little,  you 
know." 

It  hurt  Katharine  to  see  the  simplicity  of  the 
man,  and  it  made  her  face  burn  to  think  that  he 
had  been  played  upon. 

"Because  I'd  rather  not,"  she  answered,  very 
gently. 

"I — I  don't  think  I  quite  understand,"  said 
Wingfield,  with  some  hesitation.  "  I  know — you 
often  say  that  I  mustn't  send  them  so  much — but 
then,  you  know,  one  always  says  that,  doesn't  one  ? 
It  doesn't  seem  to  mean  anything  except  a  sort  of 
second  '  thank  you '  —  " 


134  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  I  mean  more  than  that,"  said  Katharine,  smil 
ing  faintly,  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  But  so  do  I ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  I 
mean  so  much  more  than  that  —  I  always  have, 
from  the  very  beginning  —  " 

"  Please  don't !  "  cried  Katharine,  anxiously,  for 
she  saw  that  he  meant  to  speak  at  once  —  but  it 
was  too  late. 

"  From  the  very  beginning,  since  almost  the  first 
time  I  ever  saw  you — oh,  my — my  dear  Miss  Lau- 
derdale — won't  you  let  me  say  it  at  last  ?  " 

"  No  —  no — please  —  " 

"If  you  only  knew  how  hard  I've  tried — not  to 
say  it  before,"  he  blurted  out,  as  the  blood  rose 
warm  in  his  brown  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

KATHARINE  turned  her  eyes  from  him  and 
looked  thoughtfully  at  the  hearth-rug.  A  little 
silence  followed  Wingfield's  last  speech,  as  he  sat 
gazing  at  her  and  hoping  for  a  word  of  encourage 
ment.  But  none  came,  and  by  slow  degrees  the 
eager  expression  faded  from  his  face  and  left  it 
anxious  and  pained. 

"  Miss  Lauderdale  —  "  he  began,  in  an  altered 
tone,  and  then  stopped  suddenly.  "  Miss  —  Katha 
rine — "  he  began  again,  more  softly,  and  still 
hesitated. 

She  looked  up,  and  though  her  eyes  were  turned 
towards  him,  he  fancied  they  did  not  see  him.  She 
was  pale,  and  her  lips  were  a  little  drawn  together, 
and  there  was  an  incongruity  between  her  attempt 
to  smile  and  the  weary  tension  of  the  brows.  Every 
thing  in  her  face  told  that  she  pitied  him  with  all 
her  heart. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said,  with  real  sympathy. 
"  It's  been  a  mistake  from  the  beginning  —  a  great 
mistake." 

"  Please  don't  say  that ! "  he  answered,  impul 
sively —  for  he  was  impulsive,  in  spite  of  his  solid, 
135 


136  THE  E ALSTONS. 

well-balanced  strength.  "  Please  don't  answer  me 
yet—" 

"  But  I  must ! "  she  protested,  and  the  look  of 
pity  became  more  set. 

"  No,  no !  Please  don't !  Wait  a  little  —  and  — 
and  let  me  tell  you  —  " 

"  It  can  do  no  good, "  she  answered,  with  a  sudden 
rough  effort.  "You've  been  misled  —  I  didn't 
know  —  " 

"What?"  he  asked,  softly.  "That  — that  I 
cared  so  much  —  and  meant  always  —  all  along  — 
from  the  very  first  —  it's  always  been  so,  ever  since 
I  saw  you  that  first  night  at  the  Bretts',  after  I 
came  back  from  Europe  —  only  it's  more  so,  every 
time,  till  I  can't  keep  it  back  any  more,  and  I've 
got  to  speak,  and  tell  you  —  " 

"Mr.  Wingfield—  "  began  Katharine,  thinking, 
womanlike,  to  chill  him  by  the  formal  enunciation 
of  his  name  with  a  protest  in  the  tone,  kindly 
though  it  was. 

"Yes  — you  think  so  now,"  he  answered,  irrele 
vantly.  "But  I  don't  ask  you  to  answer,  I  only 
ask  you  to  listen  to  me  —  and,  indeed,  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  that  it's  any  one's  fault,  nor  that 
there's  any  fault  at  all,  because  I  know  it  will  all 
come  right,  and  you'll  care  for  me  a  little,  even  if 
you  don't  now.  I've  spoken  too  soon,  perhaps,  and 
perhaps  I've  been  rough  or  rude  —  or  something  — 
and  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  as  I  should  — 


THE  RALSTONS.  187 

because  I've  never  told  anybody  such  things  — 
don't  you  believe  me,  Miss  Katharine?  But  you 
wouldn't  think  any  the  better  of  me  if  I  knew  how 
to  make  beautiful  speeches  and  phrases,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  would  you?" 

"  Oh,  no  —  no  —  and  you've  not  been  anything 
but  nice  —  only  —  " 

"I  can't  help  it  —  you're  my  whole  life,  and  I 
must  tell  you  so  now.  Of  course,  lots  of  men 
worship  you,  and  I  daresay  they  know  how  to  say 
it  ever  so  much  better  —  and  that  they're  very 
much  nicer  men  than  I  am.  But  —  but  there  isn't 
one  of  them,  I  don't  care  who  he  is,  who  cares  — 
who  loves  you  as  I  do,  or  would  do  what  I'd  do  for 
your  sake,  if  I  could,  or  if  I  had  a  chance.  And 
even  if  you  don't  care  for  me  at  all  yet,  I'll  love 
you  so  that  you  will  —  some  day  —  and  it's  not  the 
sort  of  love  that's  just  flowers  and  attention  and 
that,  you  know,  like  everybody's.  It's  got  hold 
of  me  —  hard,  and  it  won't  let  go  —  ever!  It's 
changed  my  whole  life.  I'm  not  at  all  as  I  used 
to  be.  You're  in  everything  I  do,  and  see,  and 
think,  and  hear,  as  life  is  —  and  without  you 
there  wouldn't  be  any  life  in  anything.  Don't 
think  I  don't  feel  things  because  I'm  so  big,  and  I 
don't  look  sensitive,  and  all  that  —  or  because  I 
can't  put  it  into  words  that  touch  you.  It's  true, 
for  all  that,  and  all  I  ask  is  that  you  should  believe 
me.  Won't  you  believe  me  a  little,  Katharine?" 


138  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

The  great  limbs  of  the  young  Achilles  quivered, 
and  his  strong  hands  strained  upon  one  another, 
and  there  was  the  clear  ring  of  whole-hearted  truth 
in  the  deep  voice,  in  spite  of  the  incoherence  and 
poverty  of  the  words. 

"  I  believe  you, "  answered  Katharine,  looking  at 
the  rug  again.  "  It  isn't  that.  But  I  won't  let 
you  think  for  one  instant  that  there's  the  least 
possibility  of  my  ever  caring  for  you,  or  marrying 
you.  It's  absolutely  impossible." 

"Nothing's  impossible !"  he  answered,  impetu 
ously.  "Nothing  except  that  you  should  never 
care  at  all  when  I'd  give  my  life  for  your  little 
finger,  and  my  soul  for  your  life  —  with  all  my 
heart,  and  be  glad  to  give  either  —  " 

"  It  hurts  me  very  much  to  hear  you  talk  like 
this  —  because  you've  been  misled  and  deceived  — 
my  father  and  mother  —  " 

"How  can  they  know  what  you  think  and  feel?  " 
asked  Wingfield.  "  I  only  spoke  to  them  because 
it  seemed  right  and  fair,  being  so  much  in  earnest, 
and  I  couldn't  tell  but  what  there  might  be  some 
one  else  —  I  had  no  right  to  pry  into  your  secrets 
and  watch  you  and  try  and  find  out —  it  wouldn't 
have  seemed  nice.  So  I  asked  your  father,  and 
then  Mrs.  Lauderdale  —  but  I  didn't  suppose  they 
knew  absolutely  —  of  course  they  couldn't  answer 
for  you  —  in  that  way.  And  I  say  it  again  —  don't 
make  up  your  mind  —  don't  send  me  off  —  wait  — 


THE  R ALSTONS.  139 

only  wait!  You  don't  know  how  love  grows  out  of 
what  seems  to  be  nothing  till  it's  bigger  and 
stronger  than  the  biggest  and  strongest  of  us  —  you 
can't  feel  it  growing  any  more  than  you  could  feel 
that  you  were  growing  yourself  when  you  were 
small;  and  you  can't  remember  when  it  began,  any 
more  than  you  can  remember  what  you  thought  of 
when  you  were  a  year  old.  That  doesn't  make  it 
less  real  afterwards  —  love's  such  a  little  thing  at 
the  beginning,  and  by  and  by  it  takes  in  every 
thing,  so  that  the  whole  world  is  nothing  beside  it. 
And  if  you'll  only  not  make  up  your  mind  — 

"  It's  made  up  for  me,  long  ago  —  in  a  way  you 
don't  dream  of.  It's  absolutely,  and  wholly,  and 
altogether  impossible,  and  it  always  will  be,  no 
matter  what  happens.  Oh,  I  can't  say  more  than 
that,  Mr.  Wingfield  —  and  it  wouldn't  be  true  if  I 
said  less ! " 

"But  it  can't  be  really  true!"  he  protested, 
bending  forward  in  his  low  chair.  "  Of  course  you 
think  so  —  but  how  can  you  possibly  tell?  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  you're  changeable,  or  capricious, 
or  anything  of  that  kind  —  but  people  do  change, 
you  know.  Why  —  I  hate  to  say  it  —  but  you 
couldn't  say  more  than  that  if  you  were  married 
and  I  didn't  know  it!  " 

Katharine  started,  though  she  was  strong  and 
her  nerves  were  good.  He  had  made  the  reflection 
very  naturally,  in  answer  to  the  very  positive 


140  THE  KALSTONS. 

words  she  had  spoken.  But  to  her  it  seemed  as 
though  he  must  know,  or  at  least  guess,  the  truth. 
She  lost  her  balance  for  a  moment,  as  she  gazed 
earnestly  into  his  honest  black  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Wingfield  —  do  you  know  what  you're  say 
ing?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  was  afraid  he  had  said  something  monstrous, 
and  his  face  fell. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you,"  he  stammered, 
awkwardly.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry  if  I  said  anything 
I  shouldn't  —  " 

Katharine  forgot  his  contrition,  and  forgot  to 
reassure  him  in  the  anxiety  caused  her  by  the  mere 
suspicion  that  he  might  know  the  truth.  She  sat 
staring  at  him  in  silence  for  several  seconds,  won 
dering  what  he  knew.  It  was  more  than  he  could 
bear.  He  bent  still  nearer  to  her,  from  the  edge 
of  his  chair,  and  his  hands  moved  a  little  towards 
her,  beseechingly,  in  as  near  an  approach  to  an 
eloquent  gesture  as  such  a  man  could  have  used. 

"  Please  don't  be  angry  with  me !  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  answered,  in  an  odd  voice,  with 
a  little  start.  "  I  was  only  thinking  —  " 

He  did  not  understand,  and  he  moved  backward 
into  his  chair  suddenly,  crossed  one  knee  over  the 
other  with  an  impatient  jerk,  and  looked  away 
from  her. 

"  What  a  brute  I  am !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  barely 
audible  tone. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  141 

Katharine  paid  no  attention  to  this  self-condem 
nation.  Her  eyes  rested  thoughtfully  on  his  face, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  reflecting.  She  was  examin 
ing  her  own  conscience,  trying  to  find  out  how  far 
her  actions  could  have  brought  about  the  state  of 
things  she  saw.  A  woman  who  loves  one  man  with 
all  her  heart  has  small  pity  for  any  other,  though 
she  may  know  that  she  ought  to  feel  pity  and  to 
show  it.  But  she  does  not  therefore  lose  her  sense 
of  justice. 

"Will  you  tell  me  one  thing,  Mr.  Wingfield? 
Will  you  answer  me  one  question?  "  she  asked,  at 
last. 

He  turned  to  her  quickly  again,  with  a  look  of 
surprise.  She  was  out  of  tune  with  him,  so  to  say, 
and  her  words  and  tone  jarred  strongly  upon  his 
own  mood. 

"Certainly,"  he  answered,  much  more  coldly 
than  he  had  spoken  yet.  "  I'll  try  and  answer  any 
question  you  ask  me." 

"Do  you  really  and  truly  feel  that  I've  encour 
aged  you,  as  though  I  meant  anything?  "  she  asked, 
slowly. 

It  would  not  have  been  easy  to  put  a  question 
harder  to  answer  honestly.  Wingfield  did  not 
like  it.  A  man  hates  to  be  put  in  the  position  of 
either  telling  a  falsehood  or  giving  offence,  with  no 
alternative  but  an  unmannerly  refusal  to  speak  at 
all.  Wingfield  felt  that,  in  the  first  place,  he  had 


142  THE  R ALSTONS. 

been  badly  used  in  spite  of  his  protestations  to  the 
effect  that  no  one  was  to  blame.  It  had  been  un 
pardonable  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lauderdale  to  be  so 
mistaken  in  their  own  daughter  —  he  put  it  char 
itably  —  as  to  expose  him  to  such  an  uncompromis 
ing  and  final  refusal  as  he  had  received.  He  went 
no  further  in  that  direction.  He  did  not  think  of 
himself  as  a  very  desirable  son-in-law,  and  a  very 
good  match  in  fortune,  because,  like  most  people, 
he  supposed  that  when  the  Lauderdale  estate  was 
divided,  Katharine  would  ultimately  have  her  share 
of  it,  a  fact  to  which  he  was  indifferent.  He  did 
not,  therefore,  accuse  the  Lauderdales  of  having 
intentionally  led  him  on.  But  they  had  acted  irre 
sponsibly.  And  now  he  fancied  that  Katharine 
was  very  angry  with  him  for  what  he  had  said  a 
few  moments  earlier,  and  he  thought  she  was  un 
just,  since  he  had  really  said  nothing  very  terri 
ble.  So  he  resented  her  last  question  as  soon  as 
she  had  asked  it,  and  he  hesitated  before  replying. 
Katharine  waited  patiently  a  few  moments. 

"Do  you  really  think  I've  been  flirting?"  she 
asked  at  last,  seeing  that  he  did  not  answer. 

"  No !  "  he  cried,  at  once.  "  Oh,  no  —  not  that ! 
Never.  If  you  ask  me  whether  you've  ever  looked 
at  me,  or  spoken  to  me  as  though  you  really  cared 
—  no,  you  never  have.  Not  once.  But  then  — 
there  are  other  things." 

"What  other  things?      What   have   I   done?" 


THE  RALSTONS.  143 

Feeling  that  he  had  admitted  the  main  point  in  her 
favour,  she  grew  a  little  hard. 

"Well  —  you've  let  me  come  a  great  deal  to  see 
you,  and  you've  let  me  send  you  —  oh,  well!  No 
—  I'm  not  going  to  say  that  sort  of  thing.  I  got 
the  impression,  somehow  —  that's  all." 

"You  got  the  impression,  from  what  I  did,  that 
I  liked  you  —  that  I  encouraged  you?  "  she  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Yes.  I  got  that  impression.  Besides,  you've 
often  shown  plainly  enough  that  you  liked  to  dance 
with  me  —  " 

"  That's  true  —  I  do.  You  dance  very  well. 
And  I  do  like  you  —  as  I  like  several  other  people. 
It  isn't  wrong  to  like  in  that  way,  is  it  ?  It  isn't 
flirting?  It  isn't  as  though  I  said  things  I  didn't 
mean,  is  it?" 

"No,"  answered  Wingfield,  in  an  injured  tone. 
"It's  not.  Still  —  " 

"Still,  you  think  there's  been  something  in  my 
behaviour  to  make  you  think  I  might  care?  I'm 
very  sorry  —  I'm  very,  very  sorry,"  she  repeated, 
her  voice  changing  suddenly  with  an  expression  of 
profound  regret.  "Will  you  believe  me  when  I 
tell  you  that  it's  been  altogether  unconscious ?  You 
can't  think  —  if  you  care  for  me  —  that  I'd  be  so 
heartless  and  cruel.  You  won't,  will  you?  " 

"No  —  I  don't  want  to  think  it.  I  misunder 
stood  —  that's  all.  Put  it  all  on  me." 


144  THE  RALSTONS. 

He  was  very  young,  and  he  was  cruelly  hurt. 
He  spoke  coldly,  lest  his  words  should  choke  him. 

"No,"  answered  Katharine,  speaking  almost  to 
herself,  "there  are  other  people  to  blame,  whose 
fault  it  is." 

"Perhaps." 

A  silence  followed.  It  was  warm  in  the  room. 
One  of  the  windows  was  a  little  raised,  and  the 
bells  of  the  horse-cars  jingled  cheerfully  in  the 
spring  air.  At  last  Katharine  spoke  again. 

"  I  suppose  it  doesn't  mean  much  to  you  when 
I  say  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "If  you  knew,  it 
would  mean  much  more.  I'm  very  much  in  ear 
nest,  and  I  shall  never  forget  this  afternoon,  for  I 
know  I've  hurt  you.  I  think  you're  a  little  angry 
just  now.  It's  natural.  You  have  a  right  to  be. 
Since  you  think  that  I've  made  you  understand 
things  I  didn't  mean,  I  wonder  you're  not  much 
more  angry  —  that  you  don't  say  much  harder 
things  to  me.  It  wouldn't  really  be  just,  because 
I'm  very  unhappy,  whether  I'm  to  blame  or  not. 
But  you're  generous.  I  shall  always  be  grateful 
to  you.  You  won't  bear  me  any  more  ill-will  than 
you  can  help,  will  you?" 

"  Ill-will?  I?  No !  I'm  too  fond  of  you  —  and 
besides,  I've  not  done  hoping  yet.  I  shall  always 
hope,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"No —  you  mustn't  hope  anything,"  answered 
Katharine,  determined  not  to  allow  him  the  shadow 


THE  EALSTONS.  145 

of  any  consolation.  "It  wouldn't  be  just  to  me. 
It  would  be  like  thinking  that  I  were  capricious. 
I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  you  about  friendship, 
and  all  that,  as  people  do  in  books.  I  want  you 
to  try  and  forget  me  altogether  —  for  I  believe 
you  —  you  really  care  for  me.  So  there's  no  other 
way  —  when  one  really  cares.  Don't  come  here 
any  more  for  the  present  —  don't  try  to  meet  me  at 
parties  —  don't  ask  me  to  dance  with  you.  The 
world's  very  big,  and  you  needn't  see  me  unless 
you  wish  to.  By  and  by  it  will  be  different.  Per 
haps  you  could  go  abroad  for  a  little  while  again. 
I  don't  know  what  your  plans  are,  but  it  would  be 
better  if  you  could.  The  season  will  be  over  —  it's 
almost  over  now,  and  then  you'll  go  one  way  and  I 
shall  go  another,  and  there's  no  reason  why  we 
should  meet.  We  mustn't.  It  wouldn't  be  fair 
to  me,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you,  either.  You 
see  —  it's  not  as  though  you  were  disagreeable.  If 
we  meet  at  all,  I  couldn't  help  being  very  much 
the  same  as  ever,  and  you  know  what  I've  made 
you  think  of  that.  You'll  promise,  won't  you?" 

"Not  to  try  and  see  you  sometimes?  No,  I 
won't  promise  that.  I  shall  always  hope  — 

"But  there  is  no  hope.  There's  not  the  slightest 
possibility  of  any  hope.  If  you  knew  about  me, 
you'd  understand  it." 

"  Miss  Lauderdale  —  will  you  think  it  very  rude 
if  I  ask  one  question?  I've  —  I've  put  my  whole 

VOL.    I.  — 10 


146  THE  EALSTONS. 

life  into  this  —  and  you're  sending  me  away  with 
out  a  word.  So  perhaps  —  I  think  you  might  —  " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Katharine,  kindly. 

"Are  you  engaged  to  Jack  Ralston?  I've  heard 
people  say  that  you  were,  so  often.  Would  you 
tell  me?" 

Katharine  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  did  not 
know  exactly  how  far  it  would  be  true  to  say  that 
she  was  engaged  to  John,  seeing  that  she  was  mar 
ried  to  him.  Her  marriage,  she  thought,  might  be 
looked  upon  as  a  formal  betrothal,  and  there  would 
have  been  little  harm  in  taking  that  view  of  it, 
under  such  circumstances.  But  she  had  inherited 
from  her  father  something  of  his  formal  respect 
for  the  mere  letter  of  truth,  and  she  did  not  like 
to  say  anything  which  did  not  conform  to  it. 

"We're  not  exactly  engaged,"  she  answered, 
after  a  short  pause.  "But  we  care  for  each  other 
very  much." 

Wingfield's  brow  cleared  a  little.  He  had  one 
of  those  dispositions  which  hope  in  spite  of  appar 
ent  certainty  against  them. 

"Then  I'll  go  away  for  awhile,"  he  said,  with 
sudden  resolution  and  considerable  generosity,  from 
his  point  of  view.  "If  you  don't  marry  him,  I'll 
come  back,  that's  all.  I'm  glad  you  told  me. 
Thank  you." 

It  requires  considerable  self-control  to  act  as 
Archibald  Wingfield  did  on  that  occasion.  His 


THE  RALSTONS.  147 

voice  did  not  tremble,  and  he  did  not  turn  pale, 
because  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  experience  that 
sort  of  physical  weakness  when  he  was  making  an 
effort.  But  what  he  did  was  not  easy.  Even 
Katharine  could  see  that.  He  sat  still  a  few 
moments  after  he  had  spoken,  glanced  at  her  once, 
as  though. to  make  sure  that  there  was  to  be  no 
appeal,  and  then  rose  suddenly  from  his  seat,  and 
stood  towering  above  her. 

"  Good-bye, "  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand,  and 
stooping  to  bring  it  within  her  reach.  Now  that 
the  effort  had  been  made,  his  voice  trembled  a 
little. 

"Good-bye,"  answered  Katharine,  taking  his 
hand,  and  lifting  her  head  almost  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

There  was  something  almost  like  timidity  in 
her  tone.  She  felt  how  he  had  been  wronged  by 
her  father  and  mother,  and  in  her  trouble  she  was 
willing  to  believe  that  she  was  really  a  little  to 
blame  herself.  She  realized,  too,  that  he  was  act 
ing  very  bravely  and  honestly,  and  that  he  was 
really  suffering.  It  was  not  a  grand,  dramatic 
agony,  and  eloquence  was  the  least  of  his  gifts, 
but  he  was  strong,  young,  and  in  earnest,  and  had 
been  made  to  undergo  pain  for  her  sake.  She 
was  ashamed  of  having  been  the  cause  of  it. 

No  other  words  suggested  themselves  to  her, 
but  he  waited  one  moment,  as  though  expecting 


148  THE  EALSTONS. 

that  she  would  speak  again.  Then  he  silently 
dropped  her  hand,  and  bowing  his  head  a  little, 
went  quietly  to  the  door  without  looking  back. 
She  did  not  follow  him  with  her  eyes,  but  she  lis 
tened  for  the  sound  of  the  latch,  and  it  did  not 
come  quite  so  soon  as  she  expected.  He  had 
turned  to  look  at  her  once  more,  his  hand  on  the 
door. 

"  God  bless  you  —  Katharine,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

She  looked  round  at  him  quickly,  and  the  faint, 
sorrowful  smile  came  back  to  her  face.  Her  lips 
moved,  but  no  words  came.  He  gazed  at  her  one 
moment,  and  then  took  his  young  grief  out  into 
the  spring  air  and  the  evening  sunshine. 

When  Katharine  was  alone,  she  sighed  and 
gazed  at  the  hearth-rug,  bending  forward  in  a 
thoughtful  attitude,  her  chin  supported  in  her 
hand. 

"  How  hard  it  is !  "  she  exclaimed  to  herself. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  difficulties  of  her  life 
grew  with  every  passing  day.  She  had,  indeed, 
cut  the  knot  of  one  of  them  within  the  last  half 
hour,  and  so  far  as  Archibald  Wingfield  was  con 
cerned,  the  hard  thing  had  been  done,  and  he  knew 
the  worst.  But  she,  on  her  part,  had  much  to 
bear  yet.  She  had  seen  to-day,  for  the  first  time, 
how  her  father  and  mother  longed  to  have  her  mar 
ried.  Even  nowj  she  found  it  difficult  to  suspect 


THE  E ALSTONS.  149 

either  of  them  of  intentional  cruelty,  or  of  attempt 
ing  to  use  anything  more  than  persuasion  in  push 
ing  her  into  the  match.  With  her  faculty  for 
seeing  both  sides  of  a  question  at  once,  she  was 
just.  It  was  natural,  perhaps,  that  they  should 
wish  her  to  marry  such  a  man.  She  had  never 
seen  any  one  like  him  —  such  a  magnificent  speci 
men  of  youthful  manhood.  Even  her  father  could 
not  compare  with  him.  And  he  had  much  besides 
his  looks  to  recommend  him,  much  besides  his 
fortune  and  his  position  and  his  popularity.  He 
was  brave  and  honest,  and  able  to  love  truly,  as  it 
seemed. 

He  would  recover,  of  course,  she  said  to  herself. 
He  was  sought  after,  flattered,  and  pursued  for 
many  reasons.  He  could  find  plenty  of  young  girls 
only  too  delighted  to  marry  him,  and  he  would  cer 
tainly  marry  one  of  them  before  long.  His  life 
was  not  blighted,  and  she  had  not  broken  his  heart, 
if  hearts  ever  break  at  all.  She  remembered  what 
she  had  once  borne,  in  the  belief  that  John  Ralston 
was  disgraced  for  life  on  that  memorable  occasion 
when  all  New  York  had  learned  that  he  had  been 
brought  home,  apparently  drunk,  after  a  midnight 
encounter  with  a  pugilist,  who  had  found  occasion 
to  quarrel  with  him  in  a  horse-car.  The  belief  had 
lasted  a  whole  night  and  a  whole  day,  and  she  did 
not  think  that  young  Wingfield  could  be  suffering 
anything  like  that.  Moreover,  her  love  for  Kalston 


150  THE  R ALSTONS. 

made  her  ruthless  and  almost  hard  about  every 
other  man.  Nevertheless,  she  was  sincerely  sorry 
for  the  man  who  had  just  left  her  —  the  more  so, 
perhaps,  because  she  had  little  or  nothing  with 
which  to  reproach  herself. 

Katharine  was  not  left  to  her  own  reflections 
very  long.  By  a  process  akin  to  telepathy,  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  was  soon  aware  that  Archibald  Wing- 
field  had  left  the  house.  In  the  half  hour  during 
which  his  visit  had  lasted,  she  had  not  touched  her 
miniature,  though  she  had  looked  at  it,  and  turned 
it  to  and  from  the  light  many  times.  She  was 
very  nervous,  and  she  wished  that  when  he  went 
away  he  might  forthwith  take  himself  off  to  China, 
at  the  very  least.  She  did  not  wish  to  meet  him 
that  evening,  nor  the  next,  to  be  called  to  account 
by  him  for  having  exceeded  her  powers  in  the 
impression  she  had  conveyed  of  Katharine's  readi 
ness  to  marry  him.  Yet  she  remembered  that 
she  had  acted  very  much  in  the  same  way  when 
Charlotte  bad  married  Benjamin  Slayback.  It  was 
true  that  Slayback  was  a  much  older  man,  and 
well  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  and  that  Char 
lotte  had  not  at  the  time  been  showing  any  espe 
cial  preference  for  any  of  her  adorers.  She  had,  in 
fact,  just  then  dismissed  one  for  the  grievous  offence 
of  having  turned  out  an  unutterable  bore  after  three 
weeks  of  almost  unbroken  conversation,  during 
which  she  had  exhausted  his  not  fertile  intellect, 


THE  RALSTONS.  151 

as  furnace  heat  dries  a  sponge.  Charlotte's  heart 
had  been  comparatively  free,  therefore,  and  she 
had  been  indulging  in  dreams  of  power  and  per 
sonal  influence.  But  Mrs.  Lauderdale  and  her 
husband  had  on  that  occasion  used  to  Mr.  Slayback 
almost  the  identical  words  which  she  had  lately 
repeated  to  Wingfield;  Slayback  had  come,  had 
proposed,  —  in  what  manner  Charlotte  had  never 
revealed,  —  and  had  been  immediately  accepted. 
Surely,  there  was  nothing  wrong  in  assuming  that 
Katharine  might  possibly  behave  in  the  same 
way,  seeing  how  very  much  more  desirable  a  suitor 
Wingfield  was  than  Slayback.  Thus  argued  Mrs. 
Lauderdale,  as  she  tried  to  trip  up  her  conscience 
and  step  over  it.  But  she  was  too  good  by  nature 
to  be  successful  in  such  a  fraud  upon  goodness,  and 
in  the  midst  of  her  involuntary  self-reproaches, 
her  heart  was  beating  with  anxiety  to  know  the 
result  of  the  interview. 

It  meant  a  great  deal  to  her,  for  she  was  sure 
that  if  Katharine  could  be  removed  from  the 
household,  peace  must  descend  upon  her  own  soul 
once  more,  and  she  longed  for  peace.  Somehow, 
she  felt  that  if  she  could  only  enjoy  that  suprem 
acy  of  her  wonderful  beauty  for  one  month  more  — 
for  one  last  month,  before  she  grew  old  —  she 
could  meet  Katharine  again,  and  forgive  her  all 
her  youth  and  freshness,  and  forgive  herself  for 
having  envied  them.  As  her  life  was  now,  she 


152  THE  RALSTONS. 

could  not,  try  how  she  would.  The  pain  was  upon 
her  hourly,  and  she  could  not  but  resent  it,  and 
almost  hate  the  cause  of  it. 

Though  she  constantly  looked  at  her  miniature, 
and  moved  the  brushes  and  little  saucers  on  the 
table,  her  hearing  was  preternaturally  sharpened, 
as  it  was  in  reality  the  barely  audible  sound  of  the 
distant  front  door  which  told  her  that  Wingfield 
was  gone.  Instinctively  she  looked  towards  the 
door  of  her  own  room,  hesitated,  then  rose  sud 
denly,  and  went  out  with  a  quick,  nervous  step, 
and  a  determined  look  in  her  face.  Without  stop 
ping  to  consider  what  she  should  say,  she  descended 
to  the  library. 

Katharine  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  an 
noyance  as  her  mother  entered. 

"He's  gone,  then?"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
interrogatively. 

"Yes.  He's  just  gone,"  answered  Katharine, 
in  a  voice  that  did  not  promise  confidence. 

"What  did  you  tell  him,  dear?" 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  sat  down  beside  her  daughter. 
The  smile  she  put  on  was  as  unnatural  as  the 
endearing  tone,  and  Katharine  observed  it.  She 
suffered  in  the  artificiality  which  had  developed 
in  her  mother  of  late,  so  unlike  the  dignified  per 
sonality  which  she  had  been  used  to  love. 

"  Really,  mother,  I  can't  repeat  the  conversation. 
I  couldn't  if  I  wished  to.  What  difference  does  it 


THE  EALSTONS.  153 

make  what  I  said,  since  he's  gone?  I  told  you 
what  I  should  say.  Well  —  I've  said  it." 

"You've  sent  him  away  for  good  —  just  like 
that?" 

"I've  told  him  the  plain  truth,  and  he's  gone. 
He  won't  come  back  —  unless  he  wants  to  see 
you,"  she  added,  rather  bitterly.  "I  don't  think 
he  will,  though.  You've  not  exactly  helped  him 
to  be  happy." 

"  Katharine !  "  There  was  an  injured  protest  in 
the  tone. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  surprised," 
answered  the  young  girl.  "  Of  course  he  might 
take  it  into  his  head  to  be  angry  with  you  for 
what  you've  done.  It  wasn't  very  nice.  I'm  not 
sure  that,  in  his  place,  I  should  ever  wish  to  see 
you  again." 

"  My  child,  what  an  exaggeration !  You  talk  as 
though  I  had  deliberately  sought  him  out  and 
asked  him  to  the  house  —  almost  asked  him  to 
marry  you." 

"It  comes  to  that,"  observed  Katharine,  coldly. 

"Really,  Katharine,  you're  —  beyond  words!" 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  drew  back  a  little,  in  displeasure, 
and  looked  at  her  severely. 

"I  could  forgive  you,"  continued  the  young 
girl,  "  if  you  hadn't  known  that  I  love  Jack  and 
never  shall  marry  any  one  else.  You  know  it  and 
you've  always  known  it.  That  makes  it  much 


154  THE   R  ALSTONS. 

worse.  You've  made  that  poor  man  suffer  without 
the  slightest  reason.  You  could  just  as  well  have 
told  him  that  you  knew  I  cared  for  some  one  else, 
and  you  could  have  been  as  nice  to  him  as  you 
pleased.  You've  hurt  him,  and  you've  driven  me 
to  hurt  him,  by  no  fault  of  mine,  just  to  undo  the 
mischief  you've  done.  Of  course,  it's  papa  who's 
really  done  it  all,  but  you  needn't  have  let  him 
twist  you  round  his  little  finger  like  a  wisp  of 
straw." 

"  Oh,  Katharine !     Anything  more  unjust !  " 

"I'm  not  unjust,  mother.  But  I'm  too  old  to 
think  everything  you  do  is  perfect,  merely  because 
it's  you.  When  I  see  a  man  like  Archie  Wingfield 
sitting  there  and  straining  his  hands  to  keep  him 
self  quiet,  and  choking  with  the  sound  of  his  own 
words,  I  know  he's  suffering  —  and  when  I  know 
that  he's  suffering  uselessly,  and  that  it's  all  your 
fault  and  papa's,  I  judge  you  —  that's  all.  I'm  a 
grown  woman.  I  have  a  right  to  judge." 

The  door  opened  and  Alexander  Junior  appeared 
upon  the  threshold,  just  returned  from  his  office. 

"I  heard  your  voice,  so  I  came  in,"  he  said,  with 
an  electric  smile  which  was  meant  to  be  concilia 
tory.  "  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  altered  tones,  as  he 
saw  the  faces  of  the  two  women,  "  has  anything 
happened?  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale  looked  at  the  empty  fireplace,  avoiding  the 


TUE  BALSTONS.  155 

eyes  of  both  her  husband  and  her  daughter.  But 
Katharine  leaned  back  in  her  seat  and  faced  her 
father.  Her  voice  was  almost  as  cold  and  steely 
as  his  could  be  when  she  answered  him  at  last. 

"Mr.  Wingfield  has  just  asked  me  to  marry 
him,"  she  said.  "And  I  have  refused  him  — 
unconditionally. " 

"You've  done  an  exceedingly  foolish  thing, 
then,"  answered  Alexander  Junior.  "And  you'll 
be  very  sorry  for  it  before  long." 

He  came  nearer  and  stood  by  the  fireplace,  laying 
one  authoritative  hand  upon  the  mantelpiece,  and 
shaking  the  forefinger  of  the  other  in  a  warning 
manner. 

"I'm  the  best  judge  of  that,"  answered  Katha 
rine,  undaunted  and  unimpressed  by  his  parental 
tone. 

"You're  not,"  answered  Mr.  Lauderdale. 
"You've  acquired  a  habit  of  contradicting  me 
lately.  It  seems  to  be  a  part  of  your  plan  for 
being  as  utterly  undutiful  and  disobedient  as  you 
can.  I  warn  you  that  I  won't  submit  to  it  any 
longer." 

"It's  of  no  use  to  threaten  me,  papa,"  answered 
Katharine,  controlling  herself  as  well  as  she  could. 
"And  it  doesn't  do  any  good  to  call  me  undutiful 
and  disobedient  so  often.  It  doesn't  make  it  true." 

"  Katharine ! "  cried  her  mother,  in  a  tone  of 
distress  which  was  not  artificial. 


156  THE  EALSTONS. 

"I  know  what  I'm  saying,  mother  —  " 

"  Then  you  should  be  sincerely  ashamed  of  your 
self,  Katharine,"  said  Alexander  Junior.  "As 
sincerely  as  I'm  ashamed  that  a  daughter  of  mine 
should  use  such  language." 

Katharine  rose  slowly  from  her  chair  and  stood 
up  before  him,  while  her  mother  remained  seated. 

"Neither  of  you  have  any  right  to  say  that 
you're  ashamed  of  anything  I've  done,"  she  said. 
"As  for  my  language,  it's  mild  enough  —  for  what 
you've  done.  I've  been  ashamed  of  you  both 
to-day  —  here,  in  this  room,  half  an  hour  ago. 
You've  told  an  honest  man  who's  foolishly  in  love 
with  me  that  I  cared  for  him,  and  would  have  him 
if  he  would  ask  me,  when  you  know  that  I  will 
never  marry  any  one  but  Jack  E/alston.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I've  had  good  reason  to  be  ashamed  of 
you.  It  was  hard  to  look  him  in  the  face,  and  tell 
him  that  my  father  and  mother  had  misled  "and 
deceived  him  —  to  make  him  own  that  he  had  it 
all  from  you,  and  that  I'd  not  given  him  the 
shadow  of  a  reason  for  thinking  that  I  cared  for 
him  —  that  he  had  it  all  from  you.  Oh,  it  was  so 
plain!  Not  that  you  can  deny  it  —  and  you  tell 
me  that  you're  ashamed  of  me!  If  I  didn't  love 
Jack,  do  you  know  what  I'd  have  done?  I'd 
have  married  Archie  Wingfield  to  save  you  your 
respect  for  yourself,  and  a  little  of  his  for  you!  " 

"  I  refuse  to  listen  any  longer  to   such   insane 


THE  RALSTONS.  157 

nonsense,"    said    Alexander    Junior,    whose    slow 
wrath  was  rising  by  degrees. 

"You  shall  listen  to  me,"  answered  Katharine. 
"  I'm  fighting  with  you  for  my  life  and  happiness, 
and  you've  got  to  face  me  like  an  honest  man  — 
though  you  are  my  father !  " 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  KATHARINE  !  This  is  too  much !  "  cried  Alex 
ander  Junior,  his  anger  rising  in  his  eyes. 

The  man's  heavy  hand  fell  emphatically  upon 
the  mantelpiece,  making  the  old-fashioned  gilt 
clock  and  the  Chinese  vases  tremble  and  rattle. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  not  a  nervous  woman,  but  she 
rose  from  her  seat  and  stood  beside  her  husband, 
not  exactly  as  though  she  meant  to  take  his  side, 
and  yet  not  exactly  as  a  peace-maker.  She  felt 
herself  accused  as  much  as  he  did  by  the  pale, 
strong  girl  who  stood  before  them,  one  hand  hang 
ing  by  her  side,  the  other  pulling  nervously  at  the 
little  silver  pin  at  her  collar  as  though  she  felt 
that  it  was  choking  her.  Of  the  three,  at  that 
moment,  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  by  far  the  most 
self-possessed. 

"It's  true,"  answered  Katharine.  "Every  word 
of  it's  true!" 

As  she  spoke  she  caught  her  breath,  and  was 
obliged  to  stop,  white  with  anger. 

"Katharine  —  my  child!  Don't!"  cried  Mrs. 
Lauderdale,  fearing  she  was  going  to  faint. 

"I  think  you'd  better  go,  my  dear,"  said  Alex- 
168 


THE  EALSTONS.  159 

ander  to  his  wife.  "She's  beside  herself.  I'll 
bring  her  to  her  senses." 

The  passionate  blood  rose  in  the  girl's  face  and 
the  words  came  again. 

"  No,  mother  —  stay  here !  "  she  said.  "  You 
have  no  right  to  go  away.  Yes  —  I  say  that  for 
months  you've  been  doing  your  best,  both  of  you, 
to  destroy  my  happiness  —  and  you'll  destroy  my 
life  with  it,  if  I  stay  with  you  longer.  You've 
tried  to  separate  me  from  the  man  I  love,  and 
you've  been  trying  every  day  and  every  hour  to 
make  me  marry  another  man  —  pushing  him  on, 
encouraging  him,  telling  him  that  I  would  accept 
him  —  for  all  I  know,  telling  him  that  I  loved 
him.  I've  not  forgotten  the  things  you've  done  — 
I've  not  forgotten  the  day  when  you,  mother,  you 
who  had  stood  by  us  so  long,  suddenly  turned 
without  reason  and  told  Jack  to  go  away.  Here, 
in  this  very  room,  last  winter  —  and  you,  papa  — 
I've  only  to  make  you  remember  how  you  took  that 
letter  when  it  was  brought,  and  kept  it  all  day,  and 
repeated  all  the  lies  that  people  told  about  Jack 
—  and  mother  read  me  the  things  in  the  papers  — 
and  you  made  me  believe  that  he  had  written  to 
me  when  he  was  drunk.  It  was  all  a  lie,  a  miser 
able,  infamous  lie !  And  you  liked  it,  and  repeated 
it,  and  turned  it  over  and  embroidered  it  and  beau 
tified  it  —  to  make  it  hurt  me  more.  It  did  hurt 
me  —  it  almost  killed  me  —  but  for  Jack's  sake,  I 
wish  to  God  it  had!" 


100  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

fl 

"  Katharine,  this  is  blasphemy !  "  exclaimed  her 
father,  his  cold  eyes  glittering  with  rage  —  but  he 
was  not  fluent,  he  could  find  no  words  to  dam  the 
stream  of  hers. 

"  Blasphemy !  "  she  cried,  indignantly.  "  Is  it 
blasphemy  to  pray  —  unless  your  God  is  my 
Devil?" 

Beside  himself  with  passion,  her  father  made  a 
step  forward,  and  with  a  quick  movement  covered 
her  mouth  with  one  hand  and  grasped  her  arm  with 
the  other.  But  he  miscalculated  her  quickness  as 
against  his  strength.  With  a  turn  of  the  hand 
and  wrist  she  was  free  and  sprang  backwards  a 
step. 

"It's  like  you  to  lay  your  hands  on  a  woman, 
after  trying  to  sell  her ! "  she  cried,  her  lips  turn 
ing  a  dull  grey,  her  eyes  colder  and  brighter  than 
his  own. 

Being  roused,  they  were  terribly  well  matched. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  threw  herself  between  them.  To 
do  her  justice,  she  faced  her  husband,  with  one  hand 
stretched  out  to  warn  him  back. 

"No,  no,  mother!  don't  come  between  us.  I'm 
not  afraid  —  I  only  got  my  mouth  free  to  tell  him 
that  he's  a  coward  to  lay  his  hands  on  me.  But 
that  was  his  only  answer,  because  the  things  I  say 
are  true  —  every  one  of  them,  and  more,  too. 
That's  your  one  idea  —  both  of  you  —  to  marry  me 
off  and  get  me  out  of  the  house,  because  you  can't 


THE  EALSTONS.  161 

look  me  in  the  face  after  the  things  you've  done 
—  after  coming  between  me  and  Jack,  as  you've 
tried  to  do,  and  would  have  done,  if  we'd  loved 
each  other  less  —  after  trying  to  force  me  upon  the 
first  man  who  took  a  fancy  to  my  face  —  after  tor 
menting  me  to  betray  uncle  Robert's  confidence  — 
and  it's  all  been  for  money,  and  for  nothing  else. 
Money,  money,  money !  " 

"My  child,  you're  mad!  "  cried  Mrs.  Lauderdale. 
"What  has  money  to  do  with  it?  What  are  you 
talking  about?  Do  you  know  that  you're  making 
the  most  insane  accusations?" 

"Let  her  talk,"  said  Alexander,  in  a  low,  sullen 
voice.  "She  doesn't  know  what  she's  saying." 

Ashamed  of  his  outbreak,  perhaps,  or  in  sheer 
helplessness  against  Katharine's  desperate  speech, 
he  had  fallen  back  again  and  stood  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece,  his  arms  folded  over  his  broad 
chest,  his  hands  twitching  at  his  sleeve,  his  pale 
mouth  set  like  a  steel  trap,  a  dull,  dangerous  light 
in  his  eyes. 

"  You're  mistaken, "  continued  Katharine.  "  It's 
all  for  money.  Money's  at  the  root  of  every  action 
of  your  life.  You  didn't  want  me  to  marry  Jack 
because  he's  poor,  and  because  uncle  Robert  might 
not  leave  him  anything.  Money !  You  thought  at 
first  you  could  make  me  take  Hamilton  Bright, 
because  he's  cared  for  me  so  long  —  and  because 
he's  beginning  to  be  rich  and  is  a  partner  in 

VOL.    I. 11 


162  THE  RALSTONS. 

• 

Bemans' —  money,  again!  Archie  Wingfield  — 
how  many  millions  will  he  have?  Money  —  of 
course.  Uncle  Robert's  will  —  what  shall  you  get 
by  it?  Money  —  and  you'd  tear  the  figures  out  of 
my  head  with  red  hot  pincers  if  you  could  —  just 
to  know  how  much  you'll  have  when  the  poor 
man's  dead.  Ever  since  we  were  children,  Char 
lotte  and  I,  you've  preached  economy  and  saving 
and  poverty  —  you've  let  my  mother  —  your  wife 
—  and  you're  the  nephew  of  the  great  Robert 
Lauderdale  —  you've  let  her  work  her  hands  and 
her  eyes  till  they  ached  to  make  a  little  money 
herself  —  not  for  herself  only,  but  for  us.  No  — 
don't  smile  contemptuously  like  that.  She's  done 
it  all  my  life,  and  she's  doing  it  still.  Your  chil 
dren  could  scarcely  have  been  decently  dressed,  if 
she  hadn't  earned  a  few  hundred  dollars  for  them. 
There's  hardly  a  thing  I  have  on  that  she's  not 
paid  for  out  of  her  earnings.  We  couldn't  have 
gone  to  our  first  ball,  Charlotte  or  I,  but  for  her. 
And  still,  day  after  day,  you  say  you're  poor.  Do 
you  think  I  don't  see  all  the  little  meannesses? 
Do  you  think  I  can't  smell  the  vile  cigars  you 
make  grandpapa  smoke,  to  save  those  few  cents? 
Is  there  a  house  among  all  our  friends,  poor  as 
some  of  them  are,  where  there  isn't  a  fire  in  the 
library,  at  least  in  the  evening,  even  when  there's 
nobody  asked  to  dinner?  Economy,  saving,  mean 
ness  of  all  sorts  —  even  the  poor  housemaid  who 


THE  RALSTONS.  163 

broke  her  arm  on  the  kitchen  stairs !  You  sent  to 
the  hospital  the  day  before  she  was  to  leave,  half- 
cured  and  helpless,  and  made  her  sign  the  declara 
tion  that  she  made  no  further  claim  upon  you. 
She  came  here  when  you  were  down  town.  Mother 
gave  her  five  dollars  —  out  of  her  earnings  —  but  I 
heard  her  story.  Oh,  they're  endless,  your  ways 
of  saving  that  filthy,  miserable  money  of  yours !  " 

"Are  you  really  mad,  Katharine?"  asked  her 
father,  in  a  dull,  monotonous  voice. 

"Child!  You  know  we're  comparatively  poor," 
said  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  Come  —  dear  child  —  " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm  as  though 
she  would  lead  her  away  and  end  the  violent  scene, 
but  Katharine  stood  firm. 

"  Poor !  "  she  cried,  indignantly.  "  Compara 
tively  poor !  Yes  —  compared  with  uncle  Robert 
or  Mr.  Beman,  perhaps.  But  papa  is  not  poor, 
though  he  has  told  you  so  for  years,  though  he  lets 
you  work  for  money  —  you !  Though  he  borrows 
five  dollars  of  you  —  I've  seen  it  again  and  again 
—  and  never  returns  it  —  borrows  the  poor  little 
sums  you  earn  by  hard  work !  Oh,  it's  not  to  be 
believed!  Borrows  without  ever  meaning  to  give 
it  back  —  like  an  honest  man  —  oh,  he  wouldn't 
dare  to  do  that  with  his  dearest  friend.  But  you ! 
You  can't  help  yourself  — ;> 

"  My  dear,  he  keeps  an  account  —  " 

"  I  know,  I  know !     He  pretends  that  he  keeps 


164  THE  E ALSTONS. 

the  money  for  you  and  allows  you  interest!  I've 
heard  him  say  so.  Interest  on  five  dollars.  And 
have  you  ever  had  it?  Sordid  —  me:m — there's 
no  word!  And  he  keeps  telling  you  that  he's  poor, 
and  that  we  must  pinch  and  scrape  or  we  shall  go 
beyond  our  income  —  when  he  has  over  a  million 
of  dollars  put  away  —  " 

"Be  silent!  "  cried  Alexander  Junior,  with  sud 
den  vehemence,  his  cheeks  as  grey  as  ashes. 

"I  won't  be  silent!  I'll  say  every  word  I  have 
to  say.  Look  me  in  the  face.  Deny,  if  you  dare, 
before  God,  that  what  I  say  is  true  —  that  you 
have  that  money  put  away  somewhere.  Is  it  true, 
or  not,  as  you  hope  to  be  saved?  " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  came  between  them  again,  lay 
ing  her  hands  on  Katharine's  arm  and  trying  to 
make  her  leave  the  room. 

"  Take-  care,  take  care !  "  she  cried,  anxiously, 
and  hardly  knowing  what  she  said.  "Alexander 
—  Katharine!  Don't  —  oh,  please  don't  quarrel 
like  this  —  my  child,  my  child!  You're  beside 
yourself !  " 

"I'm  not  —  it's  true  as  life  and  death!"  an 
swered  the  girl,  resisting  the  pressure.  "  Ask  him 
if  it's  not!  Make  him  swear  that  it's  not  true  — 
make  him  say,  before  heaven,  that  he  has  less  than 
a  million,  while  he's  selling  his  daughters  and 
forcing  his  wife  to  work.  Wait  —  don't  speak  ^— 
listen  to  what  he  says!  If  he  can't  say  it,  his 


THE  EALSTONS.  165 

whole  life  has  been  a  lie,  and  he  knows  it  —  wait 
—  hush!" 

Katharine  held  her  mother  fast  by  the  hands, 
and  seemed  to  hold  her  own  breath,  her  angry  eyes 
fixed  on  her  father's  face.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  turned 
her  head  instinctively,  and  looked  at  him.  He 
met  their  glances  for  a  few  seconds,  and  his  dry, 
pale  lips  parted  as  though  he  were  about  to  speak, 
but  no  sound  came.  In  the  waning  light  his  eyes 
had  a  glassy  look.  It  only  lasted  a  moment,  and 
then  his  mouth  was  twisted  with  an  expression 
meant  for  a  smile. 

"Take  her  away  —  she's  mad,"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  seemed  to  be  suddenly  weak. 

Katharine  laughed  aloud,  bitterly  and  cruelly,  in 
her  triumph. 

"  If  I  were  mad,  as  you  say  I  am, "  she  said,  a 
moment  later,  "that  would  not  make  it  impossible 
for  you  to  tell  the  truth.  Yes,  mother  —  I'm  go 
ing  now.  I've  said  it  all  —  and  you  know  it's 
true." 

She  dropped  her  mother's  hands,  turned  con 
temptuously  away,  and  left  the  room.  Neither 
her  father  nor  her  mother  moved  as  she  went, 
though  they  followed  her  with  their  eyes  until  the 
door  closed  behind  her  with  a  soft  click. 

Alexander  Lauderdale  was  torn  by  the  strongest 
emotions  of  which  he  was  capable  —  anger  and 
avarice.  But  avarice  was  the  stronger.  So  long  as 


166  THE  R ALSTONS. 

Katharine  had  accused  him  of  unkindness,  of  dis 
honesty  in  his  treatment  of  Wingfield,  of  meanness 
in  his  household,  his  wrath,  though  powerless,  had 
kept  the  upper  hand.  But  at  the  sudden  and 
unexpected  accusation  of  possessing  a  fortune  in 
secret,  he  had  been  cowed.  It  was  characteristic 
of  him  that  even  in  that  moment  he  would  not 
swear  falsely,  and  he  saw  the  folly  of  denying  the 
statement  if  he  could  not  support  his  denial  with 
something  like  an  oath.  When  passions  have 
reached  such  a  crisis,  they  are  not  satisfied  with 
less  than  they  demand.  On  the  whole,  it  had  been 
wiser  to  say  nothing.  He  could  admit  afterwards 
that  he  had  saved  something  —  he  would  assure  his 
wife  that  Katharine's  statement  had  been  exag 
gerated  —  little  by  little,  calm  would  be  restored. 
And  there  would  not  necessarily  be  any  increase  of 
expenditure.  At  that  crucial  moment  two  thoughts 
had  been  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The  miser's 
dismay  at  the  discovery  of  his  wealth,  and  the 
miser's  visions  of  ruinous  expense  in  the  imme 
diate  future.  In  a  flash,  he  had  seen  himself 
forced  to  spend  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  a  year, 
instead  of  ten  or  twelve,  and  all  possible  forms  of 
reckless  extravagance  had  appeared  to  him  in  a 
horror  of  kaleidoscopic  confusion.  It  was  torture 
to  think  of  it  —  to  realize  that  his  secret  was  out. 

The   strong   man    stood,    half-stunned,    leaning 
against  the  mantelpiece,  pulling  nervously  at  the 


THE  EALSTONS.  167 

bit  of  embroidered  velvet  which  covered  it,  his  face 
drawn  in  an  expression  of  suffering  and  fear.  He 
dreaded  the  question  which  he  knew  that  his  wife 
would  ask  him,  but  he  had  not  even  the  power  to 
speak  at  that  moment,  in  order  to  ward  it  off. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  hesitated  a  moment,  wondering 
whether  it  might  not  be  better  to  follow  Katha 
rine  to  her  room  and  try  to  calm  her  and  make 
her  more  reasonable.  Never,  in  all  the  girl's  life, 
had  her  mother  seen  her  so  passionately  angry  nor 
heard  her  use  the  tone  of  defying  strength  which 
had  rung  in  her  voice  as  she  accused  her  father. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  herself  was  frightened,  and  almost 
feared  for  Katharine's  reason.  But  there  had, 
nevertheless,  been  so  much  assurance  of  truth  in 
what  she  had  said,  that  her  mother  was  half  con 
vinced.  Before  she  left  the  room  to  follow  her 
daughter,  she  turned  to  her  husband,  and  the 
inevitable  question  came.  It  could  not  be  other 
wise.  The  girl's  accusation  had  vividly  brought 
before  Mrs.  Lauderdale  the  labour  she  had  ex 
pended  in  all  the  past  years,  and  of  which  the  result 
had  been  to  give  her  children  what  it  was  their 
father's  duty  to  give  them  if  he  had  anything  to 
give.  Many  a  time,  too,  she  herself  had  chafed 
under  the  necessity  of  lending  him  small  sums  for 
an  emergency,  accepting  a  promise  of  payment 
which  was  never  fulfilled,  and  forced  to  be  satis 
fied  with  the  assurance  that  he  kept  an  account  of 


168  THE  EALSTONS. 

what  he  owed  her.  He  seemed  never  to  have 
money  about  him.  He  always  said  that  he  was 
afraid  of  losing  it  —  he,  the  most  careful  of  men! 
The  cumulative  force  of  those  many  small  mean 
nesses  extending  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  of 
married  life  was  tremendous  when  they  were 
brought  up  in  a  body  and  made  to  face  the  positive 
statement  that  he  was  in  reality  a  rich  man.  A 
good  wife  she  had  been  to  Alexander  Junior  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  but  of  that  early  trusting 
love  which  hides  more  sins  than  the  multitude  of 
them  which  charity  can  cover,  there  was  not  left 
even  the  warmth  where  the  spark  had  glowed. 
There  was  no  '  a  priori '  judgment  of  one  heart 
against  all  possible  offence  and  sordid  meanness 
in  the  other.  Katharine's  blow  had  been  heavy 
and  direct,  and  had  gone  straight  to  its  mark. 
Her  mother  loved  her  —  in  spite  of  her  terrible 
envy  of  her.  It  would  need  the  man's  solemn  oath 
to  outweigh  the  girl's  plain  statement.  The  inevi 
table  question  came,  as  Alexander  knew  that  it 
must.  He  moved  nervously  as  she  began  to  speak. 

"Alexander,  dear,"  she  said,  speaking  gently 
from  force  of  habit,  "  it  would  be  very  easy  for  you 
to  deny  this." 

He  had  thought  of  what  he  should  say. 

"My  dear,  I  think  that  after  spending  half  a 
lifetime  together,  during  which  you've  had  occa 
sion  to  find  out  that  I'm  truthful,  it's  scarcely 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  169 

necessary  to  pay  any  attention  to  an  angry  child's 
ravings." 

But  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  not  satisfied  with  this 
poor  excuse.  Katharine  had  roused  her  own  re 
sentment,  and  she  remembered  many  things  now, 
which  Katharine  herself  did  not  know  —  little 
things  — the  dry  sticks  that  will  make  a  smoulder 
ing  fire  blaze. 

"It's  precisely  because  you're  so  truthful  that 
it  seems  strange  when  you  refuse  to  answer  a 
simple  question,  Alexander,"  observed  Mrs.  Lau 
derdale,  quietly  enough. 

She  did  not  wish  to  take  up  Katharine's  quarrel, 
nor  to  give  the  present  conversation  the  air  of  an 
argument.  She  therefore  did  not  stay  beside  him, 
as  though  they  were  discussing  any  point,  but 
moved  about  the  room,  pretending  to  arrange  small 
objects  and  books  and  generally  to  set  the  room  in 
order,  which  was  a  work  of  supererogation,  to  keep 
herself  in  countenance  while  she  renewed  the 
attack. 

"You  admit  that  I'm  truthful,"  said  Alexander, 
coldly.  "  I'm  glad  you  do.  That  settles  the  ques 
tion  at  once.  If  I've  been  a  rich  man  all  these 
years,  then  I've  not  been  telling  the  truth,  nor 
acting  it,  either.  It's  all  too  absurd  for  discussion. 
I  confess  that  at  first  I  was  angry.  The  girl  spoke 
to  me  in  the  most  outrageous  manner.  I  don't 
remember  that  any  one  has  ever  said  anything  of 


170  THE  RALSTONS. 

the  kind  to  me  in  my  life.  It's  wrong  to  be 
angry,  and  I  repent  of  it,  but  I  think  I  anay  be 
pardoned  —  considering  what  she  said.  It's  been 
a  disgraceful  scene.  I'm  sincerely  thankful  that 
none  of  the  servants  were  present. " 

"  Oh  —  it  was  natural  that  you  should  lose  your 
temper,  of  course !  " 

"Human,  at  all  events,"  said  Alexander,  with 
dignity;  "I  don't  think  I've  ever  made  any  pre 
tence  of  possessing  superior  virtues.  A  man  may 
justifiably  lose  his  temper  sometimes.  'Be  angry 
and  sin  not.'  I  did  not  intend  to  be  violent." 

«  No  —  of  course  not !     Still  —  " 

"Yes.  I  took  her  by  the  arm  and  deliberately 
laid  my  hand  upon  her  mouth.  That  was  not 
violence.  Few  men  of  sincere  convictions  would 
have  done  less,  considering  the  blasphemous  words 
she  was  uttering.  It's  the  duty  of  parents  to 
hinder  their  children  from  committing  such  sins, 
when  they  can.  In  the  case  of  a  man,  I  should 
have  used  my  strength  to  enforce  silence.  As  it 
was,  I  merely  covered  her  mouth  with  my  hand.  I 
recollect  that  you  came  between  us,  as  though  you 
thought  I  meant  to  be  violent.  Nothing  could 
have  been  further  from  my  thoughts,  I  assure  you." 

"I  trust  so,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  taking  a 
package  of  envelopes  out  of  the  little  stationery 
rack  on  the  writing-table,  turning  it  round  and 
putting  it  back  again. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  171 

"With  regard  to  Archibald  Wingfield,"  contin 
ued  Alexander,  getting  further  and  further  from 
the  question  of  the  money,  "you  know  as  well  as 
I  do,  that  we  have  treated  him  precisely  as  we 
treated  Slayback,  when  he  wished  to  marry  Char 
lotte.  As  for  me,  I  told  him  that  I  saw  no  reason 
why  Katharine  might  not  —  'might  not  ultimately,' 
mind  you  —  accept  an  offer  which  was  so  agreeable 
to  me  personally.  I  fail  to  see  anything  which 
can  be  criticised  in  that  answer.  I  should  by  no 
means  like  to  say  positively,  even  now,  that  Kath 
arine  'might  not  ultimately'  accept  him.  That 
would  amount  to  denying  the  existence  of  an 
evident  possibility,  which  is  absurd.  She  may,  so 
far  as  that  goes.  I  don't  say  she  will.  I  say, 
she  may.  Young  women  frequently  change  their 
minds,  and  sometimes  for  the  better.  Let  us  hope 
for  the  best.  Of  course  I  don't  know  every  word 
of  what  you  said  to  him,  though  you  did  your  best 
on  each  occasion  to  tell  me  all  about  it.  I 
gathered  that  you  gave  him  very  much  the  same 
sort  of  negative  encouragement  that  I  did.  Prac 
tically,  we  told  him  to  try  his  luck." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  rarely  heard  her  husband 
speak  so  long  consecutively.  He  was  not  fluent, 
as  a  rule,  and  in  the  recent  quarrel  with  Katharine 
he  had  been  almost  speechless.  But  now  he  was 
talking  for  his  life,  as  it  were.  If  he  lost  the 
position  of  domination  which  he  had  held  so  long 


172  THE  RALSTON3. 

with  his  wife,  his  existence  must  be  shaken  to  its 
foundation.  He  barely  gave  her  a  chance  to  intro 
duce  a  word. 

"I'm  not  so  positively  sure,  myself,"  she  said. 
"Of  course  I  didn't  mean  to  convey  any  wrong 
impression  to  young  Wingfield,  but  —  " 

"But  you  may  perhaps  have  pardonably  exceeded 
your  powers,"  interrupted  Alexander,  anxious  that 
she  should  not  commit  herself.  "  Very  pardonable, 
my  dear,  very  pardonable.  Such  things  happen 
constantly,  even  in  business.  Of  course  the  party 
who  goes  beyond  his  instructions  bears  the  re 
sponsibility  in  case  anything  goes  wrong.  Just 
so  in  the  present  case.  If  there  is  any  responsi 
bility,  which  may  be  doubted,  it's  yours  and  not 
mine,  for  I'm  positively  certain  of  the  words  I 
spoke  —  of  the  very  words.  I  said  'might  not 
ultimately  accept '  —  I  recollect  very  distinctly, 
and  you  know  how  accurate  my  memory  is." 

"Yes  —  I  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  in 
a  tone  which  might  have  been  thought  to  give  the 
words  a  doubtful  meaning. 

"  Of  course  you  do,  my  dear.  If  Wingfield  got 
a  wrong  impression,  — 'if  he  did,'  mind  you,  — he 
must  have  got  it  from  you.  I  think  you  might 
perhaps  explain  that  to  Katharine  —  when  she's  a 
little  calmer.  I  can't  allow  her  to  think  that  her 
father,  whom  she's  bound  to  respect,  should  have 
done  such  a  thing.  A  man's  actions  carry  much 


THE  RALSTONS.  173 

more  weight  than  a  woman's.  I  couldn't  allow 
her  to  think  that  I'd  taken  her  feelings  for 
granted.  There's  no  immediate  hurry,  Emma,  but 
I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  explain  it  to  her. 
It  will  help  to  restore  peace.  As  for  her  reasons 
for  rejecting  Wingfield,"  he  continued,  without 
pausing  for  his  wife's  answer,  "I  regret  them  very 
much.  It's  a  miserable  thing  to  see  such  a  girl 
wasting  her  chances  of  happiness  on  such  a  repro 
bate  as  Jack  Ralston,  and  I  do  her  the  honour  to 
say  that  such  an  affection  can't  possibly  be  lasting. 
As  for  her  marrying  him,  of  course  that's  alto 
gether  outside  the  question.  I'm  sure  she  clings 
to  the  attachment  far  more  out  of  a  desire  to  oppose 
my  wishes  in  everything,  than  because  she  really 
cares  for  that  vagabond.  I've  not  the  slightest 
fear  that  she'll  ever  marry  him.  I'm  sure  you 
don't  think  so,  either." 

"Unless  she  runs  away  with  him,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Lauderdale. 

She  was  annoyed  by  the  skill  with  which  he,  who 
was  ordinarily  less  keen,  had  passed  from  the  main 
subject  in  question  to  a  side  issue.  She  did  not 
know  how  a  great  passion  like  avarice  can  sharpen 
wits  under  danger  of  discovery. 

"  Oh,  well ! "  exclaimed  Alexander,  with  much 
dignity.  "  If  she  runs  away  with  the  fellow,  that 
puts  her  altogether  beyond  the  pale  of  our  love, 
and  we  shall  have  done  with  her.  We  won't  dis- 


174  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

cuss  that.  The  objection  to  this  pretence  of  loving 
ilalston —  for  I'm  convinced  that  it's  nothing  else 
—  is  that  it  keeps  her  from  marrying  a  man 
worthy  of  her,  like  Archibald  Wingtield.  Of 
course  there  are  people  far  richer  than  the  AVing- 
lields  —  uncle  Robert,  for  instance,  besides  the 
others  who  are  so  much  richer  even  than  he,  and 
count  their  millions  by  the  hundred;  but  taking  him 
all  in  all,  there's  not  a  better  match  in  society  — 
for  looks,  and  education,  and  position,  and  health, 
too,  which  I  regard  as  a  very  important  considera 
tion.  You  must  agree  with  me,  my  dear  —  AV  ing- 
field  would  have  made  an  excellent  husband." 

"  Of  course  1  agree  with  you,  Alexander.  AVhat 
an  unnecessary  question !  " 

"My  dear,  when  the  very  foundations  of  one's 
life  are  being  torn  up  and  thrown  out  of  the  win 
dow  by  a  silly  girl,  it  becomes  necessary  to  ask  all 
the  simplest  questions  over  again." 

This  extraordinary  simile  produced  no  very  con 
vincing  effect  on  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  who  had  listened 
to  phrase  after  phrase  of  his  long  tirades  with 
exemplary  outward  resignation,  for  the  sake  of 
allowing  peace  to  be  restored  by  the  overflow  of 
self-conscious  virtue,  but  with  little  inward  pa 
tience. 

"  I  think  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  let  the  whole 
matter  drop,  and  hope  that  Katharine  will  change 
her  mind,"  she  said,  sensibly. 


THE  EALSTONS.  175 

"Yes.  Let's  hope  that,  at  all  events.  Emma, 
we  can't  have  any  more  scenes  like  this.  If 
Katharine  breaks  out  in  this  way  again,  I  shall 
refuse  to  see  her.  You  may,  if  you  please.  But 
I  will  not.  When  I'm  at  home  she  shall  stay  in 
her  room." 

"But  that's  impossible!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lau- 
derdale,  in  astonishment.  "You  wouldn't  treat 
a  child  like  that!" 

"I  would,"  answered  Alexander,  and  his  lips1 
snapped  on  the  words.  "And  I  will,  if  there's  any 
repetition  of  such  conduct.  That's  a  matter  for 
me  to  judge,  Emma,  and  I  don't  wish  you  to 
interfere.  She  has  accused  her  own  father  of 
being  a  liar,  of  selling  her,  of  being  a  miser,  and  of 
stealing  his  wife's  money.  You  can't  deny  that, 
and  I  presume  you've  no  intention  of  supporting 
the  accusations.  Yes,  even  as  it  is,  I  prefer  that 
Katharine  should  not  appear  this  evening.  When 
she's  begged  my  pardon  for  what  she's  done,  I'll 
consent  to  see  her.  Not  before.  Pray  tell  her 
that  this  is  my  decision,  Emma." 

"  But,  Alexander,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing ! 
Of  course  she  lost  her  temper  and  was  awfully 
rude  to  you,  and  I'm  very  much  displeased  with 
her.  But  really  —  you  can't  treat  a  grown  woman 
like  a  baby.  It's  too  absurd." 

"It's  not  absurd,  my  dear.  You  must  excuse 
me  if  I  adopt  Katharine's  method  of  contradiction. 


176  THE  R ALSTONS. 

The  only  way  to  treat  her  is  to  treat  her  as  a  child. 
If  we  consider  her  to  be  a  grown  woman,  we  must 
either  resent  what  she's  done  —  as  though  she 
were  any  other  woman  —  or  else  take  it  for  granted 
that  she  is  temporarily  insane,  and  drive  her  out 
to  Bloomingdale  Asylum,  to-morrow  morning  to  be 
cured.  But  so  long  as  we  regard  the  whole  thing 
as  childish,  it's  sufficient  to  tell  her  that  she's  not 
to  come  to  table  until  she's  begged  my  pardon. 
Don't  you  see?" 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  aware  that  he  was  talking 
nonsense,  approximately  speaking,  and  she  saw 
that  he  meant  to  do  a  very  unwise  thing.  But  as 
he  put  it,  the  only  good  argument  against  his 
course  would  have  been  to  prove  that  Katharine 
was  right  and  that  he  was  wrong,  which,  with 
some  allowance  for  undue  and  angry  exaggeration, 
would  be  equivalent  to  proving  him  a  miser  and 
anything  but  a  ^straightforward  person.  Mrs. 
Lauderdale's  trouble  was  considerable  at  that 
moment. 

"  You  may  be  right  in  theory, "  she  said,  almost 
despairingly,  "  but  in  practice  1  think  you're  quite 
wrong.  One  doesn't  do  that  sort  of  thing  nowa 
days.  If  we've  all  got  to  fight  like  mad  people, 
let's  keep  it  to  ourselves  —  " 

"That's  precisely  what  I'm  thinking  of,"  inter 
rupted  Alexander,  whose  resolution  was  growing 
stronger  every  moment. 


THE  RALSTONS.  177 

"  Yes  —  but,  my  dear !  The  servants  —  and  your 
father,  too !  I  don't  think  he's  very  discreet  —  " 

"Yes,  exactly,  my  dear  Emma.  That's  just 
how  I  look  at  it.  I  think  I  know  Katharine  quite 
as  well  as  you  do,  and  I'm  sure  that  if  she  has  an 
opportunity  of  attacking  me,  she  will,  before  the 
servants  and  before  my  father.  I  should  much 
rather  let  people  know  that  I  had  told  Katharine 
to  stay  in  her  room  until  she  could  treat  me  with 
proper  respect,  than  have  such  a  conversation  as 
has  just  taken  place  here  repeated  all  over  New 
York.  I'm  sure  you  see  that,  don't  you?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  suddenly 
comprehending  his  point  of  view.  "But  it  seems 
to  me  that  if  there's  to  be  such  an  open  break,  it 
would  be  better  to  let  Katharine  go  down  to  Wash 
ington  for  a  few  days  and  stay  with  Charlotte." 

"  Certainly  not !  "  exclaimed  Alexander.  "  You 
know  what  Charlotte  is,  and  what  trouble  we  have 
had  with  her.  The  two  girls  would  make  common 
cause.  Not  at  all.  Not  at  all,  Emma.  I  shall 
be  glad  if  you  will  go  at  once  and  tell  Katharine 
what  I've  said  —  that  I  don't  wish  to  see  her  until 
she  has  made  amends  for  her  outrageous  conduct." 

"But,  Alexander,"  protested  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
"  it  will  be  so  inconvenient  —  sending  her  dinner 
upstairs ! " 

"I  daresay  it  won't  be  for  long.  She'll  under 
stand  in  a  day  or  two,  I've  no  doubt." 

VOL.    I. 12 


178  THE    R  ALSTONS. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  trying  to 
make  a  stand.  "It's  too  utterly  —  extraordi 
nary - 

"  My  dear,  I'm  the  master  in  this  house,"  an 
swered  Alexander,  coldly.  "  I  wish  it  to  be  so. 
But  if  you'd  rather  not  speak  to  her,  I'll  go  my 
self.  She  irritates  me,  but  I'm  glad  to  say  she 
doesn't  intimidate  me.  As  for  such  domestic 
difficulties  as  serving  Katharine  in  her  own  room, 
they  can  be  got  over.  Let  your  maid  take  the 
child  her  dinner." 

"Well — if  you  insist,  I'll  go,"  said  Mrs.  Lau 
derdale,  weakly  yielding.  "  I  couldn't  let  you  go 
—  you'd  quarrel  again." 

"I  don't  insist  upon  your  going,  my  dear  —  I 
have  no  right  to.  But  I  insist  upon  the  thing  be 
ing  done." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  went  towards  the  door.  She 
paused  before  she  went  out.  "I  think  you're 
going  too  far,  Alexander,"  she  said.  "I  think 
you're  tyrannical." 

"  I  think  not,"  he  answered,  coolly.  "  I  should 
refuse  to  sit  down  to  table  with  a  man  who  had 
used  such  language  to  me.  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  submit  to  it  from  Katharine." 

«  Well  —  " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and 
slowly  went  upstairs,  feeling  as  though  she  had 
been  driven  from  the  field  after  a  crushing  defeat. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  179 

Yet  she  had  made  very  little  resistance.  With 
her,  the  man's  cold,  arrogant  personality  was  domi 
nant.  She  had  always  submitted  to  it  because 
there  seemed  to  be  no  other  course.  She  was  con 
scious  of  wishing  that  during  the  last  five  minutes 
she  might  have  possessed  her  daughter's  character 
and  fighting  qualities,  especially  when  her  husband 
had  quietly  thrust  all  the  blame  about  the  treat 
ment  of  Wingfield  upon  herself,  without  consider 
ing  for  a  moment  that  his  own  words  might  have 
been  misinterpreted. 

She  did  not  altogether  sympathize  with  him 
against  Katharine.  For  many  years  she  had  felt 
the  galling  of  his  miserable  meanness,  and  had 
many  times  suspected  that  he  was  by  no  means  as 
poor  as  he  chose  to  declare  himself  to  be. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

MBS.  LAUDERDALE  went  slowly  upstairs,  think 
ing  over  what  she  should  say,  as  she  climbed  from 
one  story  to  another.  At  the  door  she  knocked 
softly,  and  Katharine's  voice  bade  her  enter. 

Katharine  was  standing  at  the  window,  looking 
out,  and  did  not  turn  round  as  her  mother  entered. 
The  evening  light  was  on  the  houses  opposite,  and 
the  glow  was  gently  sinking  into  the  darker  street. 
Katharine  watched  the  horse-cars  go  by,  and  lis 
tened  mechanically  to  the  jingle  of  the  bells,  hardly 
conscious  of  either. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  as  she  heard  the  door 
close. 

Her  voice  had  that  peculiar  reedy  sound  which 
comes  of  speaking  through  the  closed  teeth  by  the 
lips  only.  It  seems  to  mean  that  the  speaker  is 
on  the  defensive  and  not  to  be  trifled  with. 

"  Your  father  —  Katharine  —  he's  so  angry ! 
He  wanted  me  to  speak  to  you." 

"Oh  — it's    you,    mother?"      The    girl's    tone 
changed  a  very  little,  and  she  turned   and   came 
forward.     "Well  —  I'm  sorry,"  she   said,  after   a 
short  pause.     "It  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose." 
180 


THE  EALSTONS.  181 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  sat  down  in  the  one  small 
arm-chair,  by  the  toilet-table,  and  clasped  her 
hands  over  her  knee,  leaning  back,  and  looking  up 
rather  wistfully  at  Katharine. 

"I  think  —  in  a  way  —  it  can  be  helped,"  said 
Mrs.  Lauderdale,  in  a  conciliatory  manner.  "  If 
you  would  go  downstairs  now,  and  just  say  quietly 
that  you're  sorry,  you  know.  Just  as  you  said  it 
now.  I'm  sure  he'd  be  willing  to  accept  that  as 
an  apology." 

"Apology?"  Katharine  laughed  bitterly.  "I  — 
make  an  apology  to  him?  No,  mother  —  I  won't." 

"You  ought  to  —  really,"  objected  Mrs.  Lauder 
dale,  earnestly.  "Why,  my  dear  child!  Have 
you  any  idea  of  what  you've  been  saying  down 
stairs?  Some  of  the  things  you  said  were  dread 
ful." 

"They  were  all  true,  and  he  knows  it, "answered 
Katharine,  stubbornly. 

She  leaned  against  the  chest  of  drawers,  and 
looked  down  into  her  mother's  upturned  face. 

"Oh,  no!  they  weren't  all  true,  dear,"  protested 
the  latter.  "You  exaggerated  very  much.  It's 
quite  possible  that  your  father  may  have  saved 
something  in  all  these  years  —  he's  so  careful! 
But  as  for  having  a  million,  as  you  said  —  " 

"But,  dear  mother  —  there  isn't  a  doubt  of  it! 
I  didn't  promise  uncle  Robert  that  I  wouldn't  tell 


182  THE  RALSTON8. 

"  What?     Did  uncle  Eobert  tell  you?  " 

"  Yes !  Of  course !  Did  you  suppose  I  was  in 
venting?  " 

"  Well  —  not  exactly.  But  I  thought  you  might 
have  heard  some  gossip  —  or  something  Jack  Rals 
ton  said  —  " 

"Not  at  all.  Uncle  Robert  told  me  that  he 
knew  it  to  be  a  positive  fact  —  a  million,  at  least, 
he  said.  And  he's  quite  as  truthful  as  papa  —  " 

"More  so,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  absently;  "I 
mean,"  she  added,  very  quickly,  with  a  frightened 
look,  for  she  had  not  realized  what  she  was  say 
ing  —  "I  mean  —  quite  as  truthful.  They're  both 
perfectly  truthful  —  " 

"  Yes, "  answered  Katharine  in  a  doubtful  tone, 
and  smiling  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Not  but  that,  if 
it  came  to  believing,  you  know,  I'd  believe  uncle 
Robert  sooner  than  papa  —  " 

"Hush,  child  — don't!" 

Katharine  said  nothing,  but  still  leaned  back, 
resting  both  elbows  on  the  high  chest  of  drawers 
on  each  side  behind  her,  and  looking  down  thought 
fully  at  the  points  of  her  shoes.  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
was  silent,  too,  for  several  seconds. 

"Well?"  Katharine  uttered  the  convenient 
word  interrogatively,  without  looking  up. 

"Well — 'yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "I 
was  going  to  say  that—  She  hesitated.  "My 
dear,"  she  continued,  at  last,  "you'll  have  to  say 
something  to  your  father,  after  all  this." 


THE  RALSTONS.  183 

"  Something  like  what  I've  said  already?  "  asked 
Katharine,  raising  her  black  eyebrows  and  glanc 
ing  at  her  mother. 

"No,  no!     I'm  serious,  my  dear." 

"So  am  I  —  very.  You  began  to  talk  of  an 
apology.  It's  quite  useless,  mother  —  I  can't 
and  I  won't  apologize." 

"  But,  Katharine,  darling  —  he  says  he  won't  see 
you  unless  you  do  —  he's  dreadfully  angry  still!  " 

"Oh — -he  won't  see  me?  What  does  that 
mean?  That  I'm  to  stay  in  my  room?"  She 
laughed  a  little. 

"He's  in  earnest  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale.  "That's  what  he  said  —  he  —  I  don't  like 
to  say  it  —  but  I  must,  I  suppose.  That's  just  it. 
He  means  you  to  stay  in  your  room  whenever  he's 
in  the  house." 

"How  childish!"  exclaimed  Katharine,  scorn 
fully.  "What  do  I  care?  I  don't  want  to  see  him 
particularly.  But,  just  for  curiosity  —  if  he  hap 
pens  to  meet  me  on  the  stairs,  for  instance,  what 
will  he  do?  Throw  things  at  me?  Box  my  ears? 
He's  quite  capable  of  it  —  as  you  saw  just  now  — 

"Please  don't  talk  like  that,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Lauderdale.  "  He  was  terribly  angry  —  and  you 
were  saying  the  most  dreadful  things  —  he  only 
meant  to  stop  you  from  speaking." 

"  He  hurt  my  mouth,  and  he  hurt  my  arm  — 
there'll  be  black  and  blue  marks  here  to-morrow, 


184  THE  RALSTONS. 

I'm  sure,  by  the  way  it  feels."  She  laid  her  left 
hand  on  her  right  forearm  at  the  point  where  her 
father  had  seized  it.  "  That's  rather  like  violence, 
you  know,  mother." 

Katharine  turned  perceptibly  paler  as  she  spoke 
of  it.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  pained  at  the  recol 
lection,  and  looked  away  from  her,  clasping  her 
hands  a  little  more  tightly  over  her  knee. 

"Did  he  ever  touch  you  in  that  way,  mother?" 
asked  the  young  girl,  slowly. 

"Me?"  cried  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "Oh— child! 
How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing!  No,  indeed! 
Fancy!" 

"Well  —  I'm  just  as  sensitive  as  you  are,"  an 
swered  Katharine.  "Put  yourself  in  my  place." 

The  unexpected  answer  silenced  the  elder 
woman. 

"  I  think  it's  his  place  to  apologize  to  me  —  and 
very  humbly,"  added  Katharine.  "It  was  a  cow 
ardly  piece  of  violence  to  a  woman.  I'm  willing 
to  believe  —  for  the  honour  of  the  family,  and  men 
generally  —  that  he  didn't  mean  to  strike,  exactly. 
But  it  felt  very  much  like  it,  and  I  told  him  so. 
I'll  tell  him  so  again,  if  he  mentions  the  thing." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  in  great  difficulties.  Her 
husband  and  her  daughter  were  both  stronger  than 
she,  they  had  no  intention  of  making  up  their 
quarrel,  and  yet,  by  her  position,  she  was  forced 
to  act  as  intermediary.  It  was  not  easy.  Her 


THE  RALSTONS.  185 

husband  dominated  her  by  his  strong  personality. 
Katharine  had  the  better  of  her  in  argument.  She 
turned  away  a  little,  in  thought,  resting  one  elbow 
on  the  toilet-table  beside  her,  and  covering  her 
eyes  with  her  hand  for  a  moment.  The  beautiful, 
tired  features  were  pale  and  drawn. 

"It's  very  hard  for  me,"  she  said,  wearily. 
"You're  both  partly  wrong  and  partly  right." 

"I  think  I'm  altogether  right,"  said  Katharine. 

"  I  know  —  so  does  he.  But  you're  not  —  either 
of  you  —  nor  I,  either,  for  that  matter.  Oh,  dear! 
I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do !  " 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done,  I'm  afraid,"  an 
swered  the  young  girl,  more  gently,  for  she  was 
somewhat  pacified  by  her  mother's  owning  a  share 
in  the  blame.  "Not  that  I'm  going  to  make  a 
fuss  about  it,  if  he  doesn't.  I'm  not  that  kind. 
I  won't  come  down  to  dinner  to-night,  because  it 
would  be  unpleasant  for  everybody.  As  for  to 
morrow  —  we'll  see  what  happens.  The  idea  of 
shutting  me  up  in  my  room  so  long  as  he's  in  the 
house,  because  the  sight  of  me  is  disagreeable  to 
him,  it's  silly  —  it's  perfectly  childish!  Just  like 
an  angry  man!  I'm  not  sure  that  I  should  mind 
it  very  much,  so  far  as  not  seeing  him's  concerned. 
I  don't  want  to  see  him,  any  more  than  he  wants 
to  see  me.  But  it's  the  principle  of  the  thing 
that  sticks  in  my  throat.  It's  as  though  he  had 
the  right  to  treat  me  like  a  small  child,  to  be  sent 


186  THE  RALSTONS. 

to  bed  in  a  dark  room  at  discretion,  until  I  change 
my  mind.  It's  the  tyranny  of  the  thing,  the 
arrogance  of  it  —  and  when  I'm  altogether  right, 
as  you  both  know." 

"No  —  not  altogether,"  objected  Mrs.  Lander- 
dale. 

"I  won't  go  over  it  again,  mother.  I'll  sum  it 
up  in  these  words.  He's  rich,  and  he's  told  us  that 
he  was  poor,  and  he's  stood  looking  on  and  letting 
you  work  to  give  us  small  luxuries  that  amount  to 
necessities.  He's  wilfully  calumniated  Jack  for 
months.  He's  wilfully  misled  Archie  Wing- 
field—" 

"  My  dear  —  about  that  —  he  assures  me  that  he 
only  said  you  might  ultimately  accept  him  —  " 

"Well  — he  knew  that  I  mightn't,  and  he  had 
no  business  to  say  I  might,"  interrupted  Katharine, 
decidedly.  "Besides,  I  can  hear  just  his  tone  of 
voice,  and  his  way  of  slurring  over  the  'might' 
till  Mr.  Wingfield  felt  it  was  'may'— oh,  it's 
abominable !  As  for  his  pestering  me  with  ques 
tions  about  uncle  Robert's  will,  it's  natural  enough, 
considering  how  he  loves  money,  as  a  cat  loves 
cream.  Oh,  I  know!  You're  going  to  say  it's 
disrespectful  to  say  such  things.  Perhaps  it  is  — 
I  don't  know  —  he  seems  to  lap  it  up  —  with  that 
smile  of  his  —  and  it  disappears,  and  we  have  to 
live  on  the  drops.  No  —  I  don't  feel  respectful. 
Why  should  I?  I've  respected  him  for  nineteen 


THE  RALSTONS.  187 

years,  and  I  can't  respect  him  any  longer.  It's 
over,  once  and  for  all.  When  a  man  deliberately 
sets  to  work  to  destroy  his  daughter's  chances  of 
being  happy  —  oh,  well!  It  isn't  only  that.  It's 
the  whole  thing,  the  meanness,  the  miserliness, 
the  Simday-go-to-meeting-and-sit-up-straight  sort 
of  virtuous  superiority  outside  —  and  all  this  other 
inside.  It's  revolting.  It's  upset  all  my  ideas. 
I  don't  feel  as  though  I  could  ever  believe  in 
anything  again.  I  don't  mean  to  shock  you, 
mother,  but  I  can't  help  saying  it,  just  now." 

"It's  dreadful!"  Mrs.  Lauderdale  spoke  in  a 
low  voice  and  earnestly. 

Katharine  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  almost  dark 
by  this  time. 

"You  know,  mother,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "I 
used  to  admire  papa  —  very  much,  in  a  certain 
way.  I  don't  think  you  ever  quite  realized  that. 
Of  course  I've  been  brought  up  in  his  church, 
though  I've  much  more  sympathy  with  yours.  It 
always  seems  to  me  that  his  is  a  man's  religion, 
and  yours  is  a  woman's.  But  then  — Mr.  Griggs 
says  the  world  is  a  woman,  in  a  sort  of  way,  so 
yours  ought  to  be  the  religion  of  the  world. 
Never  mind  —  I  don't  know  enough  to  talk  about 
these  things.  What  I  mean  is  this.  I  used  to 
admire  papa's  uncompromising  way  of  looking  at 
life,  and  the  way  I  thought  he'd  tell  the  truth  and 


188  THE  EAL8TONS. 

shame  the  devil  at  any  price,  and  his  cold,  un 
reasoning,  settled  certainty  about  heaven  and  hell 
—  and  the  way  I  thought  that  he  took  his  flinty 
goodness  down  town  with  him,  and  did  right,  when 
one  knows  that  ever  so  many  business  men  don't. 
It  all  seemed  so  strong,  and  cool,  and  manly.  I 
couldn't  help  admiring  it.  And  I  believed  that 
he  was  poor,  and  that  although  he  wouldn't  say 
much,  he'd  fight  for  us,  and  die  for  us,  if  necessary. 
And  then  —  he's  handsome,  too,  and  straight,  and 
steely,  and  formal.  I've  always  liked  a  little 
formality.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  thought 
fully,  and  nodding  her  head  with  a  far-away  look 
in  her  eyes. 

Katharine  had  enumerated  the  very  qualities 
that  had  once  appealed  so  strongly  to  her  mother. 

"  Well  —  "  Katharine  paused  a  second.  "  It's 
all  a  sham.  That's  all." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  started  at  the  abrupt,  rough 
words. 

"Oh,  Katharine,  dear,  don't  say  that!  " 

"  It's  true.  It's  broken  to  pieces.  It  began  to 
crack  just  before  Charlotte  was  married.  It's  all 
broken  to  bits.  I  can  see  the  inside  of  it,  and  it's 
not  what  I  thought.  There's  only  one  idea,  and 
that's  money.  It  would  need  a  miracle  to  make 
me  admire  him  again.  It's  broken  to  atoms,  and 
what's  so  strange  is,  that  it's  taken  everything 


THE  RALSTONS.       .  189 

with  it  in  the  last  few  months  —  and  it's  taken 
the  last  bit  to-day.  It's  all  gone.  I  can't  help 
it.  It's  dreadful  —  but  it's  a  sort  of  confession, 
like  your  confessions.  I  don't  believe  in  God  any 
more." 

"My  child,  my  child!" 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  looked  up  at  her  with  scared 
eyes  and  rising  hands,  which  sought  Katharine's, 
found  them,  and  gripped  them  in  a  frightened 
way.  The  devout  woman,  good  at  heart  with  her 
one  big  fault,  felt  as  though  the  world  were  quak 
ing  under  her  feet  as  she  heard  the  last  words. 
Not  that  Katharine  spoke  them  lightly,  for  she 
was  in  earnest,  and  the  declaration  of  unbelief  was 
more  solemn  from  its  strangeness  than  almost  any 
confession  of  rigid  faith  could  have  been. 

"  Yes,  mother  —  I  know  —  we  won't  talk  about 
it.  I  only  want  you  to  understand  me  —  we've 
been  so  much  together  in  our  lives." 

She  spoke  sadly  now. 

"And  we  shall  be,  dear,  I  hope,"  answered  Mrs. 
Lauderdale. 

"I  don't  know  —  perhaps.  I  don't  believe  we 
shall  ever  be  just  as  we  used  to  be.  You're  not 
the  same  —  nor  am  I,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  yes  we  are  —  in  our  hearts.  But,  Katha 
rine,  darling  —  what  you  said  just  now  —  if  you 
knew  how  it  hurts  me  —  " 

"It's  not  your  fault,  mother.     If  anybody's  to 


1(JO  THE  K  ALSTONS. 

blame,  it's  papa,  and  I  think  lie  is.  Oh,  no! 
You're  different.  After  all,  we're  only  a  pair  of 
women,  you  and  I.  We  can  quarrel  and  make  up, 
and  nobody  will  be  hurt  in  the  end.  We're  not 
each  other's  ideals  —  not  that  papa  was  mine,  or 
anything  like  it.  But  you  naturally  believe  in  a 
thing  more  when  a  strong  man  stands  up  and 
asserts  it  and  fights  for  it,  than  if  it  turns  out 
that  he  only  says  that  he  believes  in  it,  out  of 
prejudice  and  family  tradition  and  a  sort  of 
impression  that  after  all  he  may  go  to  the  wrong 
place  if  he  doesn't.  He's  always  talking  about 
setting  an  example  —  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
example  lies  in  the  effect  of  the  thing  upon  the 
person  one's  to  imitate.  If  this  is  the  effect  of 
religion  on  him,  I  don't  want  it.  I'd  rather  talk 
to  Teddy  Van  De  Water,  who  chatters  about  Dar 
win  and  Spencer  without  knowing  anything  par 
ticular  about  them,  and  sticks  his  glass  in  his  eye 
and  makes  bad  jokes  about  the  future  state,  but 
who'd  burn  his  hand  to  the  wrist  rather  than  do 
anything  he  thought  mean.  Men  have  done  that 
sort  of  thing  before  now  —  they're  not  the  men 
who  talk  about  God  over  the  soup,  and  try  to  sell 
their  daughters  at  dessert !  " 

"  Katharine  —  "  Mrs.  Lauderdale  could  not  find 
words. 

"I  know  —  but  papa's  not  here  —  and  then,  I 
don't  mean  to  talk  about  it  any  longer.  You've 


THE  EALSTONS.  191 

come  up  from  him,  I  suppose,  mother,  to  say  that 
he  doesn't  want  to  see  me.  Very  well.  I  don't 
want  to  see  him.  But  how  long  is  this  state  of 
things  to  last?  I  won't  apologize,  and  I  suppose 
he  won't  give  in.  It  may  go  on  for  months,  then. 
Supposing  I  refuse  to  be  imprisoned  in  this  way, 
is  he  going  to  lock  me  in  and  take  the  key  with 
him?  What's  he  going  to  do?  I  want  to  know 
what  to  expect." 

"My  dear,  I  don't  know  —  he  only  said  that. 
Just  what  I  told  you." 

"Because  if  it's  going  to  be  a  siege,  I'll  go 
away,"  said  Katharine,  calmly. 

"  I  proposed  that  you  should  go  to  Washington 
and  spend  a  fortnight  with  Charlotte.  He  wouldn't 
hear  of  it." 

"Yes  —  but  if  I  just  go  without  asking  his 
leave?  What  will  happen?  What  do  you  think? 
Girls  often  go  alone,  and  it's  only  five  hours  by 
the  half-past  eleven  train  that  Charlotte  always 
takes.  She'd  be  glad  to  have  me,  too." 

"Your  father  would  be  quite  capable  of  going 
and  bringing  you  back  —  on  Sunday." 

"  On  Sunday !  "  Katharine  laughed  hardly.  "  How 
you  know  him!  He  wouldn't  lose  a  day  at  his 
office,  to  save  you  or  me  from  drowning.  That's 
what  he  calls  duty.  Yes  —  perhaps  he'd  come,  as 
you  say.  Then  we  should  have  an  opportunity  of 
fighting  it  out  on  the  way  back.  Five  hours,  side 


192  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

by  side  —  but  I  suppose  we  should  turn  our  chairs 
back  to  back  and  go  to  sleep  or  read.  But  he 
might  not  come,  after  all.  Do  you  know?  I 
should  feel  a  sort  of  sense  of  security  at  the 
Slay  backs'.  I  like  him,  though  Charlotte  makes 
fun  of  him.  There's  something  real  about  him. 
I  didn't  mean  to  go  to  Washington,  though." 

"You  couldn't  go  to  the  Kalstons',"  observed 
Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "With  Jack  at  home  —  people 
would  talk." 

"If  I  went  there,  I  should  stay,"  answered 
Katharine,  with  a  coolness  that  startled  her 
mother.  "I  should  never  come  back  at  all. 
Perhaps  I  shall  some  day.  Who  knows?  No  — 
I  thought  I'd  go  and  stop  with  uncle  Kobert. 
That  would  terrify  papa.  He'd  suppose,  in  the 
first  place,  that  I'd  tell  uncle  Kobert  everything 
that's  happened,  and  then  that  uncle  Kobert  would 
tell  me  a  great  deal  more  about  his  intentions 
with  regard  to  the  will.  That  would  make  papa 
anxious  to  be  nice  to  me  when  I  came  home  again, 
so  as  to  get  the  secret  out  of  me.  I  think  it's  a 
very  good  plan;  don't  you?  Uncle  Kobert  would 
be  delighted.  He's  all  alone  and  not  at  all  strong. 
The  very  last  time  I  saw  him,  he  begged  me  to 
come  and  stay  a  few  days.  I  think  I  will.  Fancy 
papa's  rage!  He'd  scarcely  dare  to  come  and  get 
me  there,  I  imagine." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  did  not  answer  at  once.     She 


THE  RALSTONS.  193 

saw  the  immense  advantage  Katharine  would  have 
over  her  father  if  she  carried  out  the  plan,  and 
it  seemed  too  great.  Alexander  would  be  almost 
at  his  daughter's  mercy.  She  could  dictate  her 
own  terms  of  peace.  Incensed  as  she  was  against 
him,  she  could  easily  use  her  influence  against  him 
with  his  uncle,  who  had  a  lonely  old  man's  fond 
ness  for  the  beautiful  girl. 

"Of  course  you  could  go  —  I  couldn't  prevent 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderclale,  rather  helplessly. 

"Of  course  I  could.  I've  only  to  walk  there. 
Uncle  Robert  will  send  for  my  things." 

"I  hope  you  won't,  dear.  It  wouldn't  make  it 
easier  for  me  —  he'll  think  it's  been  my  fault,  you 
know  —  and  then  —  " 

Katharine  looked  at  her  mother  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  and  pitied  her  too  much,  even  after 
what  had  passed  between  them,  to  leave  her  to 
Alexander's  temper. 

"I  won't  go  yet,"  said  Katharine.  "I  won't 
go  unless  he's  perfectly  intractable.  Go  and  tell 
him  that  it's  all  right,  mother.  I'll  submit  quietly 
and  stay  in  my  room  as  long  as  he's  in  the  house 
—  quite  as  much  for  my  own  sake  as  for  his,  you 
can  tell  him.  If  he  asks  about  my  apologizing, 
tell  him  that  I  won't,  and  that  1  expect  an  apology 
from  him.  It  can't  last  forever.  One  of  us  will 
have  to  give  in,  at  the  end  —  but  I  won't.  You 
can  put  it  all  as  mildly  as  you  like,  only  don't 

VOL.    I.  —  13 


194  THE  RALSTONS. 

give  him  any  impression  that  I'm  submitting  to 
him  morally,  even  if  I'm  willing  to  keep  out  of 
his  way." 

"  Couldn't  you  say  something  a  little  nicer  than 
that,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  pleadingly, 
for  she  anticipated  more  trouble.  "Couldn't  you 
say  that  you'd  let  by-gones  be  by-gones  —  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  true.  These  are  not  by-gones. 
They're  present  things.  The  nice  by-gones  will 
never  come  back." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  rose  slowly  to  the  height  of  her 
still  graceful  figure,  and  stood  before  her  daughter 
for  a  moment.  In  the  emotion  of  the  past  hour 
she  had  forgotten  for  a  time  her  envy  of  the 
girl's  blossoming  beauty.  For  a  moment  she  was 
impelled  to  throw  her  arms  round  Katharine's 
neck  in  the  old  way,  and  kiss  her,  and  try  to  make 
things  again  what  they  had  been.  But  something 
hard  in  the  young  grey  eyes  stopped  her.  She 
felt  that  she  herself  was  not  forgiven  yet  and 
might  never  be,  altogether. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  quietly.  "I'll  do  my 
best." 

She  turned  and  left  the  room,  leaving  Katharine 
still  leaning  back  against  the  chest  of  drawers  in 
the  position  she  had  not  abandoned  throughout  the 
conversation. 

When  Katharine  was  alone,  she  stood  up,  turned 


THE  RALSTONS.  195 

round  and  pulled  out  the  upper  drawer.  Amongst 
her  gloves  and  handkerchiefs  lay  a  photograph  of 
John  Ralston.  She  took  it  out  and  looked  at  the 
keen,  dark  face,  with  its  set  lips,  its  prominent 
bony  temples,  and  its  nervous  lines  that  would  be 
furrows  too  soon. 

"You're  worth  all  the  Lauderdales  and  the 
Wingfields  put  together!  "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  kissed  the  photograph,  pressing  it  hard  to 
her  lips  and  closing  her  eyes. 

"  I  wish  you  were  here !  "  she  said. 

She  looked  at  it  again,  and  again  kissed  it. 
Then  she  put  it  back  with  an  energetic  movement 
that  was  almost  rough,  and  shut  the  drawer.  She 
sat  down  in  the  chair  her  mother  had  occupied, 
and  gave  herself  up  to  thinking  over  all  that  had 
taken  place. 

Her  instinct  was  to  let  John  Kalston  know  as 
soon  as  possible  what  had  happened,  but  she  knew 
how  foolish  that  would  be.  He  would  insist  that 
the  moment  had  come  for  declaring  their  marriage, 
and  that  she  must  go  and  live  under  his  mother's 
roof.  But  she  felt  that  something  must  be  done 
soon.  If  she  was  willing  to  submit  to  her  father's 
sentence,  absurd  as  it  was,  she  found  a  reason  for 
doing  so  in  her  own  disinclination  to  meet  him. 
But  the  situation  could  not  last.  And  yet,  he 
was  obstinate  beyond  ordinarily  obstinate  people, 
and  it  would  be  like  him  to  insist  upon  banishing 


196  THE  RALSTONS. 

her  for  a  week.  In  such  things  he  had  no  sense 
of  the  ridiculous.  Apart  from  the  inconvenience 
and  constant  annoyance  of  being  expected  to  keep 
out  of  his  way,  she  was  young  enough  to  feel 
humiliated.  It  was  very  like  a  punishment  —  this 
order  not  to  be  seen  when  her  father  was  in  the 
house.  She  had  no  intention  of  disregarding  it, 
however.  To  do  so  would  have  been  to  produce 
an  open  war  of  which  the  rumour  would  fill 
society.  It  was  clear  that  her  best  course  was  to 
be  patient  as  long  as  possible,  and  then  quietly  to 
go  to  uncle  Kobert's  house.  The  world  would 
think  it  natural  that  she  should  pay  him  a  visit. 
She  had  done  so  before. 

Alexander  Junior  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  answer  his  wife  brought  him.  He  felt  that  if 
he  could  make  Katharine  stay  in  her  own  room 
at  his  discretion,  he  was  still  master  in  his  own 
house,  and  his  injured  dignity  began  to  hold  up 
its  head  again.  The  old  philanthropist  did  not 
even  ask  after  Katharine  at  dinner,  though  he  was 
fond  of  her.  She  so  often  went  out  to  dine  alone 
with  intimate  friends,  that  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
to  remark  upon  her  absence.  But,  as  usual,  when 
she  was  not  there,  the  family  meal  was  dull  and 
silent.  Alexander  ate  without  speaking,  and  with 
the  methodical,  grimly  appreciative  appetite  of 
very  strong  men.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  not  hun 
gry,  and  stared  at  the  silver  things  on  the  table 


THE  RALSTONS.  197 

most  of  the  time.  The  old  gentleman  bolted  his 
food  in  the  anticipation  of  tobacco,  which  tasted 
best  after  eating.  He  was  a  cheerful  old  soul 
when  he  was  not  dreaming,  an  optimist  and  a 
professed  maker  of  happiness  by  the  ton,  so  to 
say,  for  those  who  had  been  forgotten  in  the 
distribution.  He  had  big  hands,  shiny  at  the 
knuckles  and  pink  where  a  young  man's  would  be 
white,  with  horny,  yellowish  nails,  and  he  was  not 
very  neat  in  his  dress,  though  he  had  survived 
from  the  day  when  men  used  to  wear  dress  coats 
and  white  ties  in  their  offices  all  day.  The 
Lauderdale  tribe  regarded  him  as  a  harmless 
member  who  had  something  wrong  in  his  head, 
while  his  heart  was  almost  too  much  in  the  right 
place.  A  certain  amount  of  respect  was  shown 
him  on  account  of  his  age,  but  though  he  was  the 
oldest  of  them  all,  Robert  the  Rich  was  undis- 
putedly  the  head  of  the  family.  It  was  generally 
believed,  and,  as  has  been  seen,  the  belief  was  well 
founded,  that  he  was  not  to  have  any  large  share 
of  the  money  in  case  he  survived  his  brother. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Alexander  Junior 
emerged  from  his  dressing-room,  equipped  for  the 
day.  He  wore  the  garments  of  civilization,  but  a 
very  little  power  of  imagination  might  have  con 
verted  his  dark  grey  trousers  into  greaves,  his 
morning  coat  into  a  shirt  of  mail,  and  his  stiff  collar 
into  a  steel  throat-piece.  He  had  slept  on  his 


198  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

wrath,  and  had  grown  more  obstinate  with  the  grey 
of  the  morning.  His  voice  was  metallic  and 
aggressive  when  he  spoke  to  the  serving-girl, 
demanding  why  his  steak  was  overdone.  When 
his  wife  appeared,  he  rose  formally,  as  usual,  and 
kissed  her  cheek  with  a  little  click,  like  the  lock 
of  a  safe.  He  said  little  or  nothing  as  he  finished 
his  breakfast,  and  then,  without  telling  her  what 
he  meant  to  do,  he  went  upstairs  again  and  knocked 
at  Katharine's  door. 

"  Katharine ! "  he  called  to  her.  "  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you." 

"Well  — "  answered  the  young  girl's  voice  — 
"  I'm  not  dressed  yet.  What  is  it? " 

"How  long  shall  you  be?"  enquired  Alexander, 
bending  his  brows  as  he  leaned  against  the  panel 
to  catch  her  answer. 

"About  three  quarters  of  an  hour  —  I  should 
think  —  at  least  —  judging  from  the  state  of  my 
hair.  It's  all  tangled." 

"  Do  you  know  what  time  it  is?  " 

"No  — I've  not  looked.  Oh  —  my  little  clock 
has  stopped.  It's  a  quarter  past  four  by  my  little 
clock." 

"It's  nine  o'clock,"  said  Alexander  Junior, 
severely.  "Three  minutes  to,"  he  added,  looking 
at  his  watch. 

"Well  —  I  can't  help  it  now.  It's  only  —  no  — 
it's  sixteen  minutes  past  four  by  my  little  clock." 


THE  RALSTONS.  199 

"  Never  mind  your  little  clock.  I  must  be  going 
down  town  at  once,  and  I  wish  to  speak  to  you. 
I  can't  wait  three  quarters  of  an  hour." 

"No  —  of  course  not." 

"Well  —  can't  I  come  in?     Aren't  you  visible?" 

"  No.  Certainly  not.  You  can't  come  in.  I'm 
brushing  —  my  hair.  I  always  brush  it  —  ten 
minutes." 

"Katharine  —  this  is  absurd!  "  cried  Alexander, 
becoming  exasperated.  "Put  on  something  and 
open  the  door." 

"No.  I  can't  just  —  now."  Her  phrases  were 
interrupted  by  the  process  of  vigorous  brushing. 
"  Besides  —  you  can  talk  through  the  door.  I  can 
hear  —  everj"  word  —  you  say.  Can't  you  hear 
me?" 

"  Yes,  I  can  hear  you.  But  I  don't  wish  to  say 
what  I  have  to  say  in  the  hearing  of  the  whole 
house." 

"  Oh!  "  The  soft  sound  of  the  brushing  ceased. 
"  In  that  case  I'd  rather  not  hear  it  at  all." 

"  Katharine !  "  Alexander  felt  all  his  anger  of 
the  previous  day  rising  again. 

"Yes  —  what  is  it?"  She  seemed  to  have  come 
nearer  to  the  door. 

"  I  told  you.     I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"Yes  —  I  know.  But  you  can't  unless  you'll 
say  it  through  the  door." 

"  Katharine !     Don't  exasperate  me !  " 


200  THE  EALSTONS. 

"I'm  not  trying  to.  I  understood  that  you 
didn't  wish  to  see  me  for  some  days.  If  you'd 
sent  me  word,  I  should  have  been  ready  to  receive 
you.  As  it  is,  I  can't." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  you  can,  in  ten 
minutes,  if  you  please.  I  shall  send  your  mother 
to  you." 

"Oh  —  very  well.  I've  not  seen  her  this  morn 
ing.  But  you'd  better  not  wait  till  I'm  dressed. 
It  will  take  a  long  time." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Alexander  Junior,  who 
had  completely  lost  his  temper  by  this  time. 

A  moment  later  Katharine  heard  the  sharp  click 
of  the  lock,  and  the  rattle  as  the  key  was  with 
drawn.  She  never  used  it,  having  a  bolt  on  the 
inside. 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  take  all  day  if  you 
please,"  said  her  father.  "I  have  the  key  in  my 
pocket.  Good  morning." 

Katharine's  lips  parted  in  astonishment,  as  she 
turned  her  eyes  towards  the  door,  and  she  stood 
staring  at  it  for  a  moment  in  speechless  indigna 
tion,  realizing  that  she  was  locked  in  for  the  day. 
Then,  suddenly,  her  expression  changed,  and  she 
laughed  aloud.  Alexander  was  already  far  down 
the  stairs. 

But  presently  she  realized  that  the  situation  was 
serious,  or,  at  all  events,  something  more  than  an 
noying.  She  was  to  be  shut  up  at  least  until 


THE  RALSTONS.  201 

after  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  all  alone,  with 
out  food  or  drink,  without  the  books  she  wanted, 
and  without  any  one  with  whom  to  exchange  a 
few  words.  Her  face  became  grave  as  she  fin 
ished  dressing.  She  knew  also  that  her  father 
had  lost  his  temper  again,  and  she  did  not  care 
to  have  all  the  servants  know  it. 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  waited  by  the  door  till 
she  heard  the  maid's  footsteps  outside. 

"Ask  my  mother  to  come  here  a  moment,  Jane," 
she  said.  "Say  that  it's  important." 

A  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Lauderdale  turned 
the  handle  of  the  lock. 

"Is  that  you,  mother?"  asked  Katharine. 

"Yes.     The  door's  locked.     I  can't  open  it." 

"This  is  serious,"  said  Katharine,  speaking  in  a 
low  voice,  close  to  the  panel.  "  Papa's  locked  it 
and  taken  the  key  down  town  with  him.  Didn't 
he  tell  you?" 

"No  —  it's  impossible,  child!  You  must  have 
slipped  the  bolt  inside." 

"But,  mother,  he  said  he  meant  to,  and  I  heard 
him  do  it.  He  got  angry  because  I  wouldn't  let 
him  in.  I  couldn't  then,  for  I  wasn't  dressed,  and 
Jane's  putting  a  new  ribbon  on  my  dressing-gown, 
so  I  haven't  even  got  that.  But  I  didn't  want  to. 
Never  mind  that  —  I'll  tell  you  by  and  by.  The 
question  is  how  I'm  to  get  out!  Unless  he  didn't 
quite  mean  it,  and  has  left  the  key  on  the  table 


202  THE  RALSTONS. 

in  the   entry,   with   the    latch-key.       You    might 
look." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  went  downstairs  and  searched 
for  the  key,  but  in  vain.  Katharine  was  locked 
in. 


CHAPTER   X. 

MRS.  LAUDERDALE  was  indignant.  Katharine, 
at  least,  had  been  able  to  see  the  ludicrous  side  of 
the  situation,  and  had  laughed  to  herself  on  find 
ing  that  she  was  locked  in.  Less  conventional 
than  either  her  father  or  mother,  it  had  occurred 
to  her  for  a  moment  that  she  was  acting  a  part  in 
an  amusing  comedy.  The  idea  that  by  one  or  two 
absurd  phrases  she  had  so  irritated  Alexander  as 
to  make  him  forget  his  dignity  and  his  common 
sense  together,  and  do  a  thoroughly  foolish  thing 
such  as  a  child  in  a  passion  might  do,  was  funny  in 
the  extreme,  she  thought.  But  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
being  called  in,  as  it  were,  after  the  play,  thought 
the  result  very  poor  fun  indeed.  In  her  opinion, 
her  husband  had  done  a  senseless  thing,  in  the 
worst  possible  taste. 

Fortunately  the  house  was  an  old  one,  and  the 
simple,  old-fashioned  lock  was  amenable  to  keys 
which  did  not  belong  to  it.  In  due  time,  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  found  one  which  served  the  purpose, 
and  Katharine  was  set  at  liberty. 

"This  is  just  a  little  more  than  I  can  bear,"  she 
said,  as  her  mother  entered  the  room.  "  I  didn't 
203 


204  THE  R ALSTONS. 

expect  tliis  sort  of  thing  last  night  when  I  said  I 
wouldn't  go  to  uncle  Eobert's.  Really  —  papa's 
losing  his  head." 

"I  must  say,  it's  going  rather  far,"  admitted 
Mrs.  Lauderdale. 

"It's  gone  a  great  deal  too  far,"  Katharine  an 
swered.  "I  laughed  when  I  found  I  was  locked 
in.  It  seemed  so  funny.  But  I  won't  let  him  do 
it  again." 

"You  two  have  a  faculty  for  irritating  each 
other  that's  beyond  anything,"  observed  Mrs. 
Lauderdale.  "It  really  would  be  much  better  if 
you  could  be  separated  for  a  little  while.  My 
dear,  what  do  you  suppose  could  happen,  if  you 
went  to  uncle  Robert's?" 

"  Just  what  I  told  you  yesterday.  Papa  would 
be  quite  bland  when  I  came  home  again.  By  that 
time  he  could  have  got  over  his  rage,  and  he'd 
want  to  know  things  —  oh,  well !  I  won't  talk 
about  all  that.  It  only  hurts  you,  and  it  can't  do 
any  good,  can  it?  Hadn't  I  better  go  up  to 
uncle  Robert's  and  ask  if  he  can  have  me?  Mean 
while,  Jane  could  pack  a  few  things  —  just  what  I 
need  to-day  —  I  can  always  come  down,  or  send 
down,  and  get  anything  I  want  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Shan't  I,  mother?  What  do  you  think?  " 

"  Well  —  I  don't  quite  know,  child.  Of  course  I 
ought  not  to,  but  then  if  I  don't  —  "  She  paused, 
conscious  of  vagueness.  "If  I  don't  let  you  go," 


THE  RALSTONS.  205 

she  continued,  "there'll  be  worse  trouble  before 
long.  This  is  an  impossible  position,  we  know, 
and  if  you  went  to  Washington,  I'm  sure  he'd  go 
down  on  Sunday  and  bring  you  back.  It  was  very 
clever  of  you  to  think  of  going  to  uncle  Robert's." 

"I  could  go  to  the  Crowdies',"  said  Katharine, 
meditatively.  "  Of  course,  Hester's  my  best  friend, 
but  I  do  hate  her  husband  so  —  I  can't  help  it." 

Walter  Crowdie  was  a  distinguished  young 
painter,  whose  pale  face  and  heavy,  red  mouth 
were  unaccountably  repulsive  to  Katharine,  and, 
in  a  less  degree,  to  her  mother  also.  Mrs.  Crow- 
die  was  Hamilton  Bright's  sister,  and  therefore  a 
distant  cousin. 

"And  papa  might  insist  on  bringing  me  back 
from  there,  too.  There  are  lots  of  reasons  against 
it.  Besides  —  Hamilton  —  " 

"What  about  Hamilton?"  asked  Mrs.  Lauder- 
clale. 

"  Oh,  nothing !  Mother  —  I  don't  want  to  do  vio 
lent  things  and  make  a  fuss,  and  all  that,  you  know 
—  but  if  you  agree,  and  think  it's  sensible,  I  will 
go  up  and  ask  uncle  Robert  if  I  may  stay  a  few 
days.  You  can  see,  yourself,  that  all  this  can't  go 
on  much  longer." 

In  her  resentment  of  her  father's  behaviour, 
she  felt  quite  reconciled  with  her  mother,  and  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  was  glad  as  she  realized  the  fact. 
There  was  an  underthought  in  her  mind,  too, 


206  THE  R ALSTONS. 

which  was  perhaps  not  altogether  so  creditable. 
Though  it  was  only  to  be  for  a  few  days,  Katharine 
was  to  be  away  from  her.  She,  was  to  have  a 
breathing  space  from  the  temptation  which  tor 
mented  her.  For  a  little  while  she  should  be  her 
self  again,  not  contrasted,  at  every  turn  of  her 
daily  life,  with  that  terrible  bloom  which  ever  out 
shone  the  fading  flower  of  her  own  beauty.  That 
was  her  dream.  If  she  could  but  be  supremely 
beautiful  still  for  one  short  month  —  that  was  all 
she  asked  —  after  that,  she  would  submit  to  time, 
and  give  up  the  pride  of  life,  and  never  complain 
again.  She  would  not  have  acknowledged  to  her 
self  that  this  was  a  motive,  for  she  honestly  did 
her  best  to  fight  her  sin;  but  it  was  there,  neverthe 
less,  and  influenced  her  to  agree  the  more  readily 
to  Katharine's  absence.  It  counteracted,  indeed, 
the  anxiety  she  felt  about  her  husband's  view  of 
the  case  when  he  should  return  from  his  office 
late  in  the  afternoon;  but  her  instinct  told  her, 
also,  that  he  might  very  probably  be  a  little 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  done,  and  be  secretly  glad 
of  the  solution  unexpectedly  offered  him. 

Katharine  got  ready  to  go  in  a  few  minutes.  As 
she  put  on  her  hat  and  gloves,  she  glanced  two  or 
three  times  at  the  bit  of  red  ribbon  that  lay  on  her 
toilet-table.  She  had  taken  down  the  signal  from 
the  window  on  the  previous  evening,  in  order  to 
inform  John  Ralston  that  she  could  not  come  that 


THE  RALSTONS.  207 

morning.  On  the  whole,  she  was  glad  that  she 
could  not  see  him,  for  it  would  be  hard  to  conceal 
from  him  what  had  happened.  She  would  send 
him  a  message  down  town,  and  he  could  see  her, 
undisturbed,  at  their  uncle's  house  in  the  afternoon 
—  more  freely  there  than  anywhere  else,  indeed, 
since  Robert  Lauderdale  was  in  the  secret  of  the 
clandestine  marriage. 

Before  she  left  the  house,  Mrs.  Lauderdale  laid 
her  hands  upon  the  girl's  shoulders  and  looked 
into  her  eyes  with  an  anxious  expression. 

"Katharine,  dear,"  she  said,  "don't  ever  let 
yourself  think  such  things  as  you  said  yesterday 
afternoon." 

"What  things,  mother?" 

"  About  not  believing  —  you  know.  You  didn't 
mean  what  you  said,  darling,  of  course  —  and  I'm 
not  preaching  to  you.  You  know  I  promised  long 
ago  that  I  would  never  talk  about  religion  to  you 
children,  nor  influence  you.  I've  kept  my  word. 
But  this  is  different.  Religion  —  well,  we  don't 
all  agree  in  this  world.  But  God  —  God's  for 
everybody,  just  the  same,  dear.  But  then,"  she 
added,  quickly,  "I  know  you  didn't  really  mean 
what  you  said.  Only  keep  the  thought  away, 
when  it  comes." 

Katharine  said  nothing,  but  she  nodded  gravely 
and  kissed  her  mother  on  both  cheeks.  At  the 
last  moment,  as  she  was  going  to  the  door,  she 
stopped  and  turned  back. 


208  THE  ^ALSTONS. 

"Fm  awfully  sorry  to  bother  you,  mother  dear," 
she  said,  "but  I've  got  no  money  —  not  even 
twenty-five  cents.  Could  you  give  me  something? 
I  don't  like  to  be  out  with  nothing  at  all  in  my 
pocket." 

The  deprecating  tone,  the  real,  earnest  regret  at 
being  obliged  to  ask  for  even  such  a  trifle,  told  the 
tale  of  what  had  gone  on  in  the  house,  unknown  to 
the  world,  for  years,  far  better  than  any  words 
could  have  done. 

"Of  course,  child  —  I  always  have  something, 
you  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  promptly. 
"Here  are  ten  dollars." 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  want  so  much !  "  cried  Katharine. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  buy  anything  —  it's  only  for 
horse-cars,  and  things  like  that.  Give  me  a  dollar 
and  a  little  change,  if  you  have  it." 

But  Mrs.  Lauderdale  insisted  that  she  should 
take  the  note. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  to  uncle  Robert's  with 
out  a  penny  in  your  pocket.  It  looks  like  poor 
relations." 

"Well  —  you're  always  generous,  mother,"  an 
swered  the  young  girl,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  But 
it's  papa's  relation,  and  not  yours." 

"I  know,  dear  —  I  know.  But  it  makes  no 
difference." 

As  Katharine  had  anticipated,  Robert  Lauder 
dale  was  very  glad  to  see  her.  He  was  sitting  in 


THE  E  ALSTONS.  209 

his  library,  into  which  the  sun  streamed  through 
the  high  windows,  one  of  which  was  partly  opened 
to  let  in  the  spring  freshness. 

She  thought  he  looked  ill.  He  had  not  recov 
ered  from  the  effects  of  his  illness  so  quickly  as 
Doctor  Routh  had  expected,  owing  to  a  certain 
weakness  of  the  heart,  natural  enough  at  his  age 
and  after  enduring  so  severe  a  strain.  His  appe 
tite  had  never  returned,  and  he  was  thin  in  the 
body  and  almost  wasted  in  the  face.  If  anything, 
Katharine  thought  he  looked  worse  than  when  she 
had  last  seen  him  a  few  days  previously.  But  he 
welcomed  her  with  a  cheery  smile,  and  she  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"Come  to  pay  me  a  little  visit?"  His  voice 
was  oddly  hollow.  "That's  right!  I  wish  you'd 
stay  with  me  a  few  days  again.  But  then,  you're 
too  gay,  I  suppose." 

"Not  at  all  too  gay,"  laughed  Katharine. 
"That's  exactly  what  I  want  to  do,  and  why  I 
came  at  this  hour.  I  wanted  to  ask  if  you'd  have 
me  for  a  week,  and  then,  if  you  would,  I  was 
going  to  send  for  my  things.  And  now  you've 
spoken  first,  and  I  accept.  My  things  are  all 
ready,"  she  added,  still  smiling.  "You  see,  I 
knew  you'd  let  me  come." 

"  Of  course,  little  girl !  "  answered  the  old  man, 
his  sunken  eyes  fixing  themselves  wistfully  on  her 
young  face.  "  King  for  Leek  and  tell  him  to  send 
a  man  down  at  once." 

VOL.    I.  14 


210  THE  RALSTONS. 

"Oh —  there's  no  hurry  about  it.  I  made  my 
self  as  beautiful  as  I  could  before  starting  —  but 
I  want  to  dazzle  you  at  dinner.  You  sit  up  for 
dinner,  don't  you?  How  are  you,  uncle,  dear? 
Better?  " 

11  Yes  —  yes, "  he  answered,  slowly.  "  I  suppose 
I'm  better.  But  it's  slow  work.  Yes,  I  sit  up 
for  dinner.  It  makes  the  days  shorter.  They're 
so  long.  You  look  pale,  my  dear.  What's  the 
matter?  Too  much  dancing?  Too  much  flirting? 
Or  what?  " 

"  I  never  flirt,  uncle  Robert !  "  Katharine  laughed 
again. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  time  you  began,  and  you'd  better 
begin  at  once  —  with  me." 

And  the  old  gentleman  laughed,  too,  a  queer 
hollow  laugh  that  seemed  to  come  from  his  back 
bone,  with  a  rattle  in  it.  And  he  laid  two  of  his 
great  bony  fingers  against  the  young  girl's  pale, 
fresh  cheek  —  as  though  death  played  with  life, 
and  would  like  to  kiss  it. 

So  they  chatted  pleasantly  together  in  the  morn 
ing  sunshine  amongst  the  grand  old  books  which 
the  rich  man  had  collected  about  him.  Katharine 
had  no  intention  of  telling  him  what  had  happened 
in  Clinton  Place,  if  she  could  help  it.  Uncle 
Robert  did  not  seem  to  require  any  reason  for  her 
sudden  determination  to  pay  him  a  visit,  as  she 
had  done  before  on  more  than  one  occasion.  He 


THE  R ALSTONS.  211 

was  glad  enough  to  have  her,  whatever  her  reasons 
might  be. 

Katharine  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  freedom 
and  revived.  The  certainty  that  for  several  days, 
at  least,  the  perpetual  contest  with  her  father  was 
not  to  be  renewed,  brought  colour  to  her  cheeks 
and  light  to  her  eyes.  But  as  the  time  wore  on 
towards  the  hour  for  luncheon,  and  she  came  and 
went,  and  alternately  talked  with  the  old  man  and 
read  aloud  to  him  a  little  and  sat  in  silence,  watch 
ing  his  face,  the  conviction  came  over  her  that  he 
could  never  get  back  his  strength.  The  vitality 
was  gone  out  of  him,  and  he  had  grown  listless. 
She  could  not  tell  whether  he  might  live  much 
longer,  or  not,  but  she  felt  that  he  had  lost  some 
thing  which  he  could  never  regain. 

"You  feel  stronger,  don't  you?"  she  asked,  in 
an  encouraging  tone. 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  looked  at  her 
affectionately  and  dreamily. 

"Don't  be  worried  about  me,  dear  girl,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "I'm  doing  very  well." 

"No,  but  really  — "  Katharine's  face  took  an 
anxious  expression. 

"Keally?"  he  repeated,  looking  at  her  still. 
Then  his  head  fell  back  against  the  dark  red 
cushion.  "I'm  not  dead  yet,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"But  it's  coming — it's  coming  by  inches." 

"Don't  say  that!" 


212  THE  R ALSTONS. 

But  she  knew  it  was  true,  and  she  began  to  talk 
of  other  things.  He,  however,  seemed  inclined  to 
come  back  to  the  subject  of  his  failing  strength. 

"I  should  be  better  if  they  didn't  bother  me," 
he  said.  "They  keep  coming  to  see  whether  I'm 
alive,  and  sending  messages  to  enquire.  Confound 
them!  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  momentary  return  of 
energy.  "  They  couldn't  send  more  flowers  if  the 
undertaker  were  in  the  house !  What  does  an  old 
fellow  like  me  want  of  flowers,  I  should  like  to 
know?  They  may  turn  my  grave  into  a  flower 
show  if  they  like,  when  I'm  tucked  away  in  it, 
but  I  wish  they'd  leave  me  alone  till  I  am! " 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  asked  Katharine,  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  The  tribe,  as  you  call  the  family.  Your 
mother's  one.  Didn't  she  tell  you  she  sent  me 
flowers?" 

« No  —  I'll  tell  her  not  to." 

"Don't  do  that,  little  girl.  You  just  let  her 
alone.  If  she  were  the  only  one  —  I  shouldn't 
care.  I  wouldn't  hurt  her  feelings  for  anything, 
you  know  —  and  then,  it  means  something  when 
she  sends  them,  because  she  works  for  them  and 
earns  the  money.  But  why  the  dickens  the  three 
Miss  Miners  should  think  it  necessary  to  send  me 
American  Beauties  in  cardboard  boxes,  I  can't 
conceive.  They're  comfortably  off  enough,  now, 
but  that's  no  reason,  and  they  can't  stand  the 


THE  R ALSTONS.  213 

expense  of  that  sort  of  thing  long.  Perhaps  they 
think  it  won't  last  long.  Of  course  it's  well 
meant.  I  made  Beman  give  them  a  lift  with 
some  little  stocks  they  had  lying  round,  and  he 
took  an  interest  in  the  thing,  I  suppose,  for  I  hear 
that  they're  very  comfortable  —  ten  thousand  a 
year  amongst  the  four  of  them,  with  Frank  —  and 
I  suppose  he  earns  something  with  all  his  writ 
ings,  doesn't  he?" 

"Oh,  yes.  The  Century  gave  him  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  for  an  article  the  other  day.  He 
was  so  pleased!  You  have  no  idea!  " 

"I  daresay,"  said  the  great  millionaire,  gravely. 
"Very  nice,  too  —  a  hundred  and  fifty  for  one 
article.  Well  —  he's  another.  He  sends  me  all 
he  writes  —  there's  a  heap  of  things  on  the  table, 
there.  That's  his  corner,  you  know,  because  he's 
the  literary  man  of  the  family.  And  he  scribbles 
me  little  notes  with  them.  He's  rather  humble 
about  his  work  —  for  he  says  he'd  really  be  glad 
if  anything  he  turned  out  could  help  to  pass  the 
time  for  me.  Well  —  it's  nice  of  him,  I  know. 
But  it  irritates  me,  somehow.  As  for  that  Crowdie, 
he's  the  worst  of  the  lot  —  as  he's  the  cleverest. 
By  the  bye,  what  day  is  to-day  —  Thursday, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes  —  it's  Thursday.     Why?  " 

"Well  —  he's  coming  before  luncheon  to-day. 
It  appears  that  he's  painted  a  picture  of  you.  I 


214  THE  RALSTONS. 

think  you  said  something  about  it  last  winter, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes.  I  told  you  I  was  sitting  to  him.  He 
painted  it  for  Hester.  She's  my  great  friend,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  yes  —  so  she  is  —  so  she  is !  Well  —  that's 
a  singular  thing,  too.  He  said  in  his  last  note 
that  it  was  for  me." 

"Did  he?"  Katharine  laughed.  "You'd  better 
take  it,  uncle  dear  —  that  is,  if  you  want  it.  It's 
a  good  picture." 

"Everything  the  young  scoundrel  does  is  good!  " 
growled  the  old  man.  "Do  you  like  him,  child?" 

"Like  him!  I  perfectly  loathe  him  —  but  I 
can't  tell  why,"  she  added,  in  quick  apology. 
"He's  always  very  kind." 

"I  don't  see  how  Walter  Crowdie  can  be  kind 
to  my  niece,"  said  Robert  Lauderdale,  with  rough 
pride.  "  Anyhow,  he  wants  to  get  something  out 
of  me.  So  he's  bringing  the  picture  to  me  this 
morning.  I  told  you  what  I  meant  to  do  for  them 
in  my  will.  I  don't  see  why  I  should  do  anything. 
They're  rich,  those  people.  She  had  money  and 
he  gets  big  prices,  and  I'll  do  him  the  credit  to 
say  he's  industrious,  at  all  events.  He  seems  to 
be  a  good  husband  to  Hester,  too  —  isn't  he  ?  " 

"She  adores  him,"  answered  Katharine. 

"Well  —  I  suppose  I'm  like  you.  I  can't  tell 
why  I  dislike  the  man,  but  I  do.  It's  a  case  of 


THE  RALSTONS.  215 

'Doctor  Fell/  Yes  —  there's  Crowdie,  and  the 
Miners  —  even  Ham  Bright  —  he's  always  enquir 
ing  and  leaving  cards!  As  for  your  father,  he 
writes  me  long  letters  once  a  week,  as  though  I 
were  abroad,  and  he  comes  to  see  me  every  Sun 
day  afternoon  at  four  o'clock,  rain  or  shine." 

"Oh  —  that's  where  he  goes!  "  cried  Katharine. 
"I  often  wondered  —  he  always  disappears  on 
Sunday  afternoon." 

"  Yes  —  he  comes  here  and  tells  me  what  a  solid 
thing  the  Trust  Company  is,  and  how  he's  devot 
ing  his  life  to  it,  and  sacrificing  his  chances  of 
getting  rich,  so  as  to  be  useful.  Oh,  it's  very  fine, 
I  admit.  But  then,  he  never  says  anything  about 
that  money  of  his  which  he  keeps  put  away.  And 
I  never  say  anything  about  it,  either.  What's  the 
use  —  it  would  only  make  him  uncomfortable." 

"But  you're  quite  sure  he  has  it,  uncle  Robert, 
aren't  you?"  asked  Katharine.  "You're  not  do 
ing  him  an  injustice?" 

"Yes.     I've  seen  it." 

"  What  —  the  money?     I  don't  understand." 

"I've  seen  the  value  of  a  million  of  money  in 
United  States  Bonds,  which  were  the  property  of 
your  father,"  answered  the  old  man.  "I  won't 
tell  you  how  it  happened,  because  a  banker  acci 
dentally  betrayed  your  father's  confidence.  It  was 
at  the  time  of  a  conversion  of  bonds,  two  years 
ago.  For  some  reason  or  other,  Alexander  —  your 


216  THE  R ALSTONS. 

father  —  couldn't  attend  to  it,  or  do  it  all  himself. 
I  don't  know  why.  Anyhow,  he  employed  a 
banker  confidentially,  and  I  came  to  know  the  fact, 
and  I  saw  the  bonds.  So  that  settles  it.  He's  not 
squandered  a  million  on  your  clothes  in  the  last 
two  years,  has  he,  little  girl?" 

"  Hardly !  "  Katharine  laughed.  "  But  mightn't 
it  have  been  trust  money,  or  something  like  that?  " 

"No.  His  name  was  there.  He's  a  careful 
man  —  your  father.  So  it  couldn't  have  been 
a  trust.  Well  —  I  was  going  through  the  list, 
wasn't  I?  I  haven't  half  finished.  There's  your 
grandfather.  Sandy  never  had  much  sense  when 
he  was  a  boy.  He  was  all  heart;  I  suppose  he 
knows  I'm  dying,  and  wants  me  to  give  my  soul  a 
lift  in  the  shape  of  some  liberal  contributions  to 
his  charities.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  piles  of 
reports  he  sends,  and  letters  without  end  —  in  his 
queer,  shaky  hand.  'Dear  old  Bob;  what's  a 
million,  more  or  less,  to  you,  and  it  would  make  ten 
thousand  homes  happy.'  That's  the  sort  of  thing. 
Ten  thousand  idiots!  Give  them  all  a  hundred 
dollars  apiece  —  of  course  they'd  be  happy,  for  a 
week  or  two.  Sandy  forgets  the  headaches  they'd 
have  afterwards.  He  believes  everything's  good, 
and  everybody's  an  angel,  more  or  less  disguised, 
but  recognizable.  Well  —  I  suppose  it's  better  to 
be  an  optimist.  They're  the  happy  people,  after 
all." 


THE  E ALSTON 8.  217 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  don't  know.  People  who 
are  always  happy  can't  ever  feel  how  happy  they 
are  sometimes,  as  unhappy  people  do.  That's 
what's  so  nice  about  being  sad  —  now  and  then, 
when  one  feels  gay,  the  world's  a  ball  of  sunshine. 
Haven't  you  felt  like  that  sometimes?  I  do." 

"  Sometimes  —  sometimes, "  repeated  the  old  man, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "Not  lately.  I've  had  so 
many  cares.  Great  wealth  complicates  the  end  of 
life,  Katharine.  You'll  be  very  rich.  Remember 
that.  Have  your  fortune  settled  so  that  it  can  be 
easily  handled  when  you're  old.  That's  what  I've 
done,  and  it's  something,  at  all  events.  If  I  had 
to  be  picking  up  odds  and  ends  and  loose  threads 
now,  it  would  be  harder  than  it  is.  And  perhaps 
I've  made  a  mistake.  Perhaps  it's  better  to  tell 
people  just  what  they  have  to  expect.  People 
worry  so!  Now  there  are  all  the  Miners'  rich 
relations,  you  know  —  the  Thirlwalls  and  the  Van 
De  Waters,  and  all  that  set.  I  don't  know  what 
they  think,  I'm  sure.  They've  got  heaps  of 
money,  and  there's  no  reason  on  earth  why  I  should 
leave  them  a  dollar.  But  they  worry.  Ruth  Van 
De  Water  comes  and  brings  flowers  —  always 
flowers  —  I  make  Leek  take  them  away  —  I  sup 
pose  he  decorates  the  pantry  with  them  —  and  she 
says  her  mother  would  so  much  like  to  take  me  to 
drive  when  it's  warmer.  Why?  What  for?  And 
one  of  the  Thirlwalls  sent  me  some  cigars  he'd 


218  THE  RALSTONS. 

brought  from  Havana  with  him,  and  old  Mrs. 
Trehearne  —  the  one  who's  'old'  Mrs.  Trehearne 
now,  since  her  sister-in-law  died  —  didn't  she  tod 
dle  in  the  other  day  and  say  she  wanted  to  talk 
about  old  times!  —  she's  another  of  those  holy 
scarecrows  that  hang  round  death-beds.  Now, 
she's  nothing  on  earth  to  expect  of  me.  It's  sheer 
love  of  worry,  I  believe." 

"  People  may  be  fond  of  you  for  your  own  sake," 
suggested  Katharine.  "  You  don't  know  how  nice 
you  are !  That  is  —  when  you  like !  " 

"Well  — I  don't  know.  It  may  be  — but  I 
doubt  it.  You  see,  I've  had  a  good  deal  of  expe 
rience  in  the  way  of  being  liked." 

"Has  it  been  all  a  bad  experience?  You  can't 
tell  me  that  nobody  ever  liked  you  for  your  own 
sake  —  never,  at  all.  I  shouldn't  believe  it.  The 
world  can't  be  all  bad,  right  through." 

"Oh,  no!  I  didn't  say  that.  And  I  suppose  I 
shouldn't  say  anything  that  looks  like  cynicism 
to  you,  child.  Still,  I  must  say  there's  a  good 
deal  of  personal  interest  in  the  affection  a  rich 
man  gets.  I  used  to  hear  that  said  when  I  was  a 
boy,  and  there's  a  good  deal  about  it  in  old-fash 
ioned  books,  but  I  didn't  believe  it.  It's  money 
that  makes  the  world  go,  Katharine,  my  dear. 
It's  love  for  one  year,  perhaps,  but  it's  money  all 
the  other  sixty-nine  out  of  the  seventy.  I've  seen 
a  deal  of  money  earned  and  squandered,  and  stolen 


THE  RALSTONS.  219 

and  wasted  in  my  time,  and  there's  no  denying  it 
—  money's  the  main  object.  It  keeps  the  world 
going,  and  when  it  gets  stuck  in  one  place,  as 
it  has  in  my  hands,  there's  an  attempt  —  a  natural 
attempt,  I  suppose  —  to  distribute  it  again.  And 
if  it  doesn't  get  distributed,  there's  a  howl  of  pain 
from  all  the  relations.  It's  natural  —  it's  natural 
—  but  it  doesn't  make  dying  easier." 

"Don't  talk  about  dying,  uncle  dear  —  there's 
no  reason  for  —  " 

The  door  opened,  and  Leek,  the  butler,  ap 
peared. 

"Mr.  Crowdie  asks  if  you'll  see  him,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  He  says  he  wrote  that  he  was  coming  this 
morning,  sir." 

"Yes  —  yes.  I  know.  Show  him  in,  Leek." 
The  butler  disappeared.  "  I'm  sorry  we  don't  like 
him,"  added  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  rather 
weary  smile.  "But  I  want  to  see  your  picture. 
You  Said  it  was  good?" 

"Very." 

There  was  the  short  silence  of  expectancy  which 
precedes  the  entry  of  a  visitor,  and  then  the  door 
opened  again  and  Crowdie  came  in.  He  was  of 
average  height,  but  ill  made,  slightly  in-kneed  and 
weak-shouldered,  neither  thin  nor  stout ;  pale,  with 
a  pear-shaped  face  and  bright  red  lips,  beautiful 
brown  eyes  and  silky  brown,  hair  which  was  a  little 
too  long.  His  hands  and  feet  were  small  —  the 


220  THE  RALSTONS. 

hands  being  very  white,  with  pointed  fingers,  and 
they  looked  soft.  He  dressed  well. 

"It's  so  kind  of  you  to  let  me  come,  sir,"  he 
said,  as  he  shook  hands.  "I  hope  you're  really 
better.  Why,  Miss  Lauderdale,  I  didn't  expect  to 
see  you!  How  do  you  do?" 

"Thanks  —  how  do  you  do?  I'm  staying  here, 
you  know." 

Old  Lauderdale  pointed  to  a  seat.  He  had  shaken 
hands  with  the  painter,  but  had  not  spoken. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  Crowdie  sat  down,  "as  my 
niece  is  here,  we  can  compare  her  with  her  por 
trait.  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  thinking 
of  giving  it  to  me,  I'm  sure.  I  hope  you've 
brought  it." 

Crowdie  had  grasped  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"  It  was  meant  for  my  wife  —  she's  Miss  Lau- 
derdale's  most  intimate  friend,  you  know,"  he  said, 
with  tine  frankness.  "  But  we  consulted  about  it, 
and  we  decided  that  I  should  offer  you  this  one 
and  do  another  for  her  from  the  sketches  I  have. 
May  I  have  it  brought  in?  It's  rather  a  big  thing, 
I'm  afraid." 

"By  all  means,  let's  see  it,"  said  the  old  man, 
touching  the  bell  at  his  elbow  as  Crowdie  rose. 
"  The  men  will  bring  it  in  all  right  —  you  needn't 
go,  Mr.  Crowdie." 

Crowdie  went  towards  the  door,  however,  with 
an  artist's  instinctive  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  his 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  221 

work,  and  while  he  was  turned  away  Robert 
Lauderdale's  eyes  met  Katharine's.  They  botli 
smiled  a  little  at  the  same  moment,  admiring  the 
quick-witted  ingenuity  with  which  Crowdie  had 
turned  the  difficulty  of  presenting  the  portrait  to 
the  old  man  while  Katharine,  to  whom  he  had  said 
that  it  was  for  her  friend,  —  his  wife,  —  sat  look 
ing  on. 

Two  footmen,  marshalled  and  directed  by  Leek, 
brought  in  the  picture. 

"Set  it  up  on  this  arm-chair,"  said  Crowdie. 
"It  will  be  quite  steady  —  so  —  a  little  more  to 
the  light  —  the  least  bit  the  other  way  —  that'll  do 
—  thanks.  Can  you  see  it  well?"  he  asked,  turn 
ing  to  the  other  two. 

"It's  a  good  picture,  isn't  it?"  asked  Katharine, 
after  they  had  both  gazed  at  it  in  silence  for  a 
full  minute. 

"It's  wonderful!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  in 
genuine  admiration.  "It's  a  great  picture,  Mr. 
Crowdie.  I  congratulate  you  —  and  myself  —  and 
the  young  lady  here,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand 
on  Katharine's  arm  as  she  sat  beside  him. 

Crowdie  was  pleased.  He  knew  very  well,  by 
long  experience,  when  admiration  was  real  and 
when  it  was  feigned.  Of  late  years,  the  true  note 
had  rarely  failed  in  the  chorus  of  approval. 
Whatever  he  might  be  as  a  man,  he  was  a 
thorough  artist,  and  a  very  good  one,  too. 


222  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  like  it  yourself,  Miss  Lauder- 
dale,"  he  said,  coming  nearer  to  her  as  he  spoke. 
''That's  always  a  test." 

"Yes  —  I  do  like  it.  But  —  I  suppose  I  ought 
not  to  criticise  —  ought  I?  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  I  should  like  to  hear  what 
you  think.  You've  not  seen  it  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  and  then  it  was  in  the  studio.  You've  got 
a  new  impressiorl  of  it  now.  Tell  me  —  won't 
you?" 

"Well  — you  don't  mind?  Keally  not?  Then 
I'll  tell  you.  I  think  you've  put  something  of 
Hester  into  me.  Look  at  it.  Do  you  see  it 
yourself?  " 

"Xo  —  frankly,  I  don't,"  answered  Crowdie,  but 
a  change  came  over  his  face  as  he  spoke  —  a  mere 
shadow  of  amusement,  a  slight  thickening  of  the 
heavy  red  lips. 

"It's  in  the  eyes  and  the  mouth,"  continued 
Katharine.  "I  don't  know  exactly  what  it  is, 
but  it  reminds  me  of  Hester  in  such  an  odd  way 

—  as  I've   seen  her  look  sometimes.      There's  a 
little  sort  of  drawing  down  of  the  eyelids  at  the 
corners   and   up    in   the    middle,  with   a  kind  of 
passionate,  longing  look  she   has  now  and  then. 
Don't  you  see  it?     And  the  mouth  —  I  don't  know 

—  it  reminds  me  of  her,  too  —  the  lips  just  parted 
a  little  —  as  though  they  wanted  something  —  the 


THE  BALSTONS.  223 

way  one  looks  at  big  strawberries  on  the  table 
before  they're  served  —  "  Katharine  laughed. 

"Yes  —  but  that's  just  the  way  you  looked," 
protested  Crowdie.  "Doesn't  Miss  Lauderdale 
raise  her  eyes  just  in  that  way,  Mr.  Lauderdale?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  the  old  gentleman. 

"Oh,  no!"  laughed  Katharine.  "I  never  look 
like  that.  I  keep  my  mouth  shut  and  glare 
straight  at  people." 

"  It  seems  to  me  to  be  very  like, "  said  the  old 
man,  bending  forward  with  his  great  head  on  one 
side  and  his  hands  on  his  knees,  as  he  looked  at 
the  portrait. 

"It's  a  great  picture,  anyway  —  whether  it's 
like  me  or  not,"  said  Katharine. 

She  was  too  unaffected  to  make  any  foolish 
remarks  about  being  nattered  too  much.  She  ac 
cepted  the  fact  that  she  was  good-looking,  and 
said  nothing  about  it.  Crowdie  reflected  for  a 
moment,  wishing  to  turn  a  graceful  compliment 
upon  her  last  speech,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing 
new.  His  mind  was  preoccupied  by  the  discovery 
she  had  made  of  a  fact  by  no  means  new  to 
himself  nor,  perhaps,  wholly  unintentional. 

"Where  shall  we  hang  it,  Mr.  Crowdie?"  asked 
the  old  gentleman,  at  last. 

"Ah  —  that's  an  important  question.  Where 
should  you  like  it,  sir?  " 

Crowdie  occasionally  introduced   a   'sir '   when 


224  THE  RALSTONS. 

he  addressed  the  millionaire,  by  way  of  hinting, 
perhaps,  that  he  considered  him  to  be  the  head 
of  the  family,  though  his  only  connection  was 
through  his  wife,  and  that  was  a  distant  one. 
Hester  Crowdie's  maternal  great-grandfather  had 
been  Robert  Lauderdale's  uncle. 

"I  should  like  it  near  me,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Couldn't  we  have  it  in  this  room?" 

"Why  not?  Just  where  it  is,  if  you  like  it 
there.  I'll  get  you  an  easel  and  a  bit  of  stuff  to 
drape  it  with  in  an  hour." 

"An  easel?  H'm  —  that's  not  very  neat,  is  it? 
An  easel  out  in  the  middle  of  the  room  —  I  don't 
know  how  that  would  look." 

"What  difference  does  it  make  —  if  you'd  like 
it  here?"  asked  Katharine. 

"That's  true,  child  —  why  shouldn't  I  have 
what  I  like?"  asked  the  old  millionaire. 

Crowdie  laughed. 

"If  anybody  has  the  right  and  the  power  to 
please  himself,  you  have,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Lauder- 
dale,  would  you  mind  sitting  down  beside  the 
picture  for  a  moment?  I  want  to  have  a  good 
look  at  it  once  more  —  1  should  just  like  to  see 
if  I  can  find  that  resemblance  to  Hester." 

"Certainly." 

Katharine  sat  down,  assuming  easily  enough  the 
attitude  she  had  been  accustomed  to  during  a 
number  of  sittings.  Crowdie  drew  back  and 


THE  EALSTONS.  225 

looked  at  her.  Then  he  came  to  her  again  and 
put  out  his  hand  towards  her  hair,  but  instantly 
withdrew  it. 

"I  remember,"  he  said,  quickly,  but  in  a  low 
voice.  "You  don't  like  me  to  touch  it.  Would 
you  raise  your  hair  a  little  —  on  the  sides?  You 
know  how  it  was." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  and  saw  the  ex 
pression  she  detested  —  a  sort  of  disagreeable 
smile  on  the  heavy  red  lips.  The  feeling  of 
repulsion  was  so  strong  that  she  almost  shivered. 
Crowdie  drew  back  and  looked  again. 

"I  can't  see  it  —  for  the  life  of  me!"  said 
Crowdie,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  If  you'll  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Lauderdale,  I'll  go  and  get  the  easel  at 
once." 

«  Yes  —  do !  "  said  Katharine. 

"Well  —  but  —  won't  you  stay  to  luncheon,  Mr. 
Crowdie?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Thanks  —  I  should  like  to  —  but  I've  got  a 
sitter  coming.  You're  very  kind.  I'll  bring  the 
easel  myself." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  See  you  by  and  by, 
then,"  answered  Mr.  Lauderdale. 

When  Crowdie  was  gone,  the  old  man  looked 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  picture.  Gradually  what 
Katharine  meant  by  the  resemblance  to  Hester 
dawned  upon  him,  and  he  knit  his  bushy  white 
eyebrows. 

VOL.  i.  — 15 


226  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

"I'm  sorry  you  told  me,"  he  said,  at  last.  "I 
see  it  now  —  what  you  mean  —  and  I  don't  like 
it." 

"Somehow  —  I  don't  know  —  it  looks  like  a 
woman  who's  been  through  something  —  I  don't 
know  exactly  what.  Perhaps  it  is  like  an  older 
woman  — a  married  woman." 

"H'm  —  perhaps  so.  I  think  it  is.  Anyhow,  I 
don't  like  it." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IT  was  the  habit  of  Robert  Lauderdale,  since 
he  had  been  ill,  to  rest  two  hours  before  dinner, 
a  fact  of  which  Katharine  was  well  aware,  and 
she  had  sent  a  message  to  John  Ralston  begging 
him  to  come  and  see  her  when  he'  came  up  town 
after  business  hours.  But  she  did  not  mean  to  let 
him  come  without  informing  the  old  gentleman. 
Before  he  retired  to  his  room  late  in  the  afternoon, 
she  spoke  to  him  about  it. 

"Of  course,  of  course,  my  dear,"  he  answered 
quickly,  in  his  hollow  voice.  "He  may  spend 
the  day  here,  if  he  likes  —  and  if  you  like." 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Katharine,  "I've  not 
seen  him  since  yesterday  morning.  You  know, 
since  he's  been  going  regularly  to  business,  he's 
not  free  in  the  daytime  as  he  used  to  be.  And 
as  for  letting  him  come  to  Clinton  Place  when 
papa's  at  home,  it's  simply  out  of  the  question." 

"Is  it?  Do  you  mean  to  say  it's  as  bad  as 
that?" 

"Yes  —  it's  pretty  bad,"  Katharine  answered, 
thoughtfully.  "We've  not  been  getting  on  very 
well,  papa  and  I.  That's  why  I  came  to  you  so 
227 


228  THE  P  ALSTONS. 

suddenly  to-day,  without  warning.  My  mother 
thought  it  would  be  better." 

"Oh  —  she  did,  did  she?"  The  old  man  closed 
his  eyes,  as  though  thinking  it  over.  "And  she's 
generally  a  peacemaker,"  he  continued,  after  a 
moment.  "That's  a  sign  that  she  thinks  the 
situation  strained,  as  the  politicians  say.  What's 
happened,  little  girl?" 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  you  all  the  details.  It's 
a  long  story,  and  wouldn't  interest  you.  But  they 
got  it  into  their  heads  that  I  ought -to  marry 
Mr.  Wingfield —  you  know  —  Archie  Wingfield  — 
the  beauty  —  and  of  course  I  refused  him.  That 
was  yesterday  afternoon.  And  then  —  oh,  I  don't 
know  —  there  was  a  scene,  and  papa  got  angry, 
and  so  this  morning  after  he'd  gone  down  town  I 
consulted  with  my  mother  and  came  here.  I  only 
wanted  you  to  know  —  that's  all." 

The  old  gentleman  was  silent  for  some  time 
after  she  had  finished  speaking. 

"I  wish  you'd  induce  Jack  to  stay  here,  and 
announce  your  marriage  under  my  roof,"  he  said 
at  last,  in  a  low  voice.  "I'd  like  to  see  it  all 
settled  before  —  Katharine,  child,  feel  my  pulse, 
will  you?" 

Katharine  started  a  little,  and  leaned  forward 
quickly,  and  laid  her  firm  white  fingers  on  the 
bony  wrist. 

"Can  you  find  it?"  he  asked,  rather  anxiously. 


THE  EALSTONS.  229 

"No  —  yes  —  wait  a  moment  —  don't  speak!" 
She  held  her  breath,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  his  grey 
face  as  she  pressed  the  point  where  she  thought 
the  pulse  should  be.  "Yes  —  there  it  is!"  she 
exclaimed  suddenly,  in  a  tone  of  relief.  "  It's  all 
right,  uncle  Robert,  only  I  couldn't  find  it  at  first. 
I  can  feel  it  quite  distinctly  now.  Does  it  always 
go  so  fast  as  that?  " 

"  It's  going  very  fast,  isn't  it  ?  I  have  a  little 
fluttering  —  at  my  heart." 

"  Shan't  I  send  for  Doctor  Kouth?  "  asked  Katha 
rine,  with  renewed  anxiety. 

"Oh,  no  —  it's  no  use."  His  voice  was  growing 
perceptibly  more  feeble.  "  I  shall  be  better  pres 
ently,"  he  whispered,  and  closed  his  eyes  again. 
Then,  as  though  fearing  lest  his  whisper  should 
frighten  her,  he  made  an  effort  and  spoke  aloud 
again.  "It  often  happens,"  he  said.  "Don't  be 
afraid,  little  girl." 

Katharine  had  no  experience  of  sickness,  a,nd 
did  not  know  the  danger  of  that  fluttering  at  the 
heart  in  such  a  case.  She  thought  he  knew  better 
than  she  whether  he  needed  anything  or  not,  and 
that  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  annoy  him  with 
questions.  She  was  used  to  manly  men  who  said 
what  they  wished  and  nothing  more.  He  lay 
back  in  his  big  chair,  breathing  with  some  diffi 
culty.  A  deep  furrow  appeared  between  his  eye 
brows,  which  gave  his  face  an  expression  of  pain, 


230  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

and  his  jaw  dropped  a  little,  making  his  cheeks 
look  more  hollow.  Katharine  sat  quite  still  for 
several  minutes. 

"Are  you  suffering,  uncle  dear?"  she  asked  at 
last,  bending  to  his  ear. 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  opened  his  eyes  a 
little  and  closed  them  again. 

"I  shall  be  better  in  a  minute,"  he  said,  a 
moment  later. 

He  revived  very  slowly,  as  she  sat  there  watch 
ing  him,  and  as  the  furrow  disappeared  from  his 
brow  and  his  mouth  closed,  the  look  of  life  came 
back  to  his  face.  He  was  a  strong  old  man,  and, 
though  little  attached  to  life,  was  to  die  hard.  He 
opened  his  eyes  at  last  and  looked  at  Katharine, 
smiling  a  little. 

"I  think  I'll  go  to  my  room,"  he  said.  "It's 
my  time  for  resting,  you  know.  Perhaps  I've 
been  up  a  little  too  long." 

To  Katharine's  surprise,  he  was  able  to  stand 
when  Leek  and  the  footman  came  to  help  him,  and 
to  walk  without  much  difficulty.  She  followed  the 
little  procession  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom  and  saw 
Mrs.  Deems  come  and  take  charge  of  him.  He 
turned  his  head  slowly  towards  Katharine  and 
smiled  before  the  door  closed. 

"It's  all  right,  little  girl,"  he  said. 

She  went  downstairs  again  and  returned  to  the 
library.  It  faced  the  south  and  was  still  warm 


THE  RALSTONS.  231 

with  the  sunshine.  She  sat  down  again  in  the 
chair  she  had  occupied  before.  Presently  her  eyes 
turned  instinctively  to  her  portrait.  Crowdie  had 
brought  the  easel  while  she  and  her  uncle  had  been 
at  luncheon,  and  had  arranged  it  himself.  He  had 
come  into  the  dining-room,  and  after  exchanging 
a  few  more  words,  had  gone  away  again. 

She  gazed  at  the  beautiful  features,  now  that  she 
was  alone  with  it,  and  the  feeling  of  dislike  and 
repulsion  grew  stronger,  till  she  felt  something 
like  what  she  experienced  when  she  looked  at 
Crowdie's  pale  face  and  red  mouth.  She  felt  that 
he  had  put  something  into  the  painting  which  had 
no  right  there,  which  he  had  no  right  to  imagine 
—  yet  she  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  Presently 
she  rose  and  glanced  round  the  room  in  search  of 
a  looking-glass.  But  old  Lauderdale  did  not  like 
mirrors,  and  there  was  none  in  the  library.  On 
the  table,  however,  stood  a  photograph  of  herself 
in  a  silver  frame.  She  seized  it  as  soon  as  she 
saw  it  and  held  it  up  in  her  hand,  comparing  it 
with  the  portrait.  She  found  it  hard  to  tell 
where  the  difference  lay,  unless  it  was  in  the 
eyelids  and  the  slight  parting  of  the  lips,  but 
she  felt  it  and  disliked  it  more  and  more. 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  one  of 
the  footmen. 

"Mr.  Kalston,"  said  the  man,  announcing  John, 
who  entered  immediately  afterwards. 


232  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

The  door  closed  behind  him  as  he  came  forward. 
Katharine's  heart  jumped,  as  she  became  conscious 
of  his  presence.  It  was  as  though  a  strong  current 
of  life  had  been  turned  u^pon  her  after  having  been 
long  alone  with  death.  Ralston  moved  easily,  with 
the  freedom  that  comes  naturally  of  good  propor 
tions.  His  bright  brown  eyes  gleamed  with  pleas 
ure,  and  the  hard,  defiant  lines  of  the  lean  face 
relaxed  in  a  rare  smile. 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  with  a  nervous,  passion 
ate  lightness  that  belongs  only  to  finely  organized 
beings,  twice  or  three  times.  And  then  she  kissed 
him  once  with  all  her  heart,  and  looked  into  the 
eyes  she  loved. 

"How  good  it  is  to  have  this  chance!"  he 
exclaimed,  happily.  "This  is  better  than  South 
Fifth  Avenue  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  — 
isn't  it  ?  Why  didn't  we  think  of  it  before?  " 

"  I  can't  be  always  stopping  with  uncle  Robert, 
you  know,"  answered  Katharine.  "I  wish  I 
could." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  the  last  words  attracted 
his  attention.  With  a  gentle  touch  he  made  her 
turn  her  face  to  the  light,  and  looked  at  her. 

"What's  happened?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 
"There's  been  some  trouble,  I  know.  Tell  me  — 
you've  had  more  worry  at  home,  haven't  you?  " 

"Oh  —  it's  nothing!"  Katharine  answered, 
lightly.  "You  see  how  easy  it  is  for  me  to  get 
away.  What  does  it  matter?" 


THE   KALSTONS.  233 

"Yes  —  but  there  has  been  something,"  insisted 
John,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  don't  like  this,  Kath 
arine." 

He  turned  away  from  her,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  portrait.  It  instantly  fixed  his  attention. 

"Holloa!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  is  it  here? 
I  thought  it  was  for  Hester." 

Katharine  laughed. 

"He  brought  it  this  morning,"  she  answered. 
"  He's  changed  his  mind,  and  has  given  it  to  uncle 
Robert.  How  do  you  like  it?" 

John  looked  at  it  long,  his  eyelids  drooping  a 
little.  When  he  turned  his  head,  he  looked  di 
rectly  at  Katharine's  mouth  critically. 

"You  haven't  got  a  mouth  like  that,"  he  said, 
suddenly.  "And  I  never  saw  that  expression  in 
your  eyes,  either^"  he  added,  a  moment  later. 
"  What's  the  fellow  been  doing?  " 

"I  don't  know,  Jack.  But  I  don't  like  it.  I'm 
sure  of  that,  at  all  events." 

"Does  uncle  Robert  like  it?" 

"No.  He's  anything  but  pleased,  though  he 
thought  it  splendid  at  first.  Then  he  saw  what 
you  and  I  see.  It  wasn't  so  in  the  studio,  it  seems 
to  me.  He's  done  something  to  it  since.  Never 
mind  the  picture,  Jack.  Sit  down,  and  let's  talk, 
since  we've  got  a  chance  at  last." 

John's  eyes  lingered  on  the  portrait  a  moment 
longer,  then  he  turned  away  with  an  impatient 


234  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

movement,  and  sat  down  beside  Katharine.  He 
stroked  her  hand  gently  two  or  three  times,  and 
neither  said  anything.  Then  he  leaned  back  in  his 
straight  chair  and  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other. 

"Somebody's  trying  to  get  me  out  of  Beman's," 
he  said,  and  his  face  darkened.  "  I  wish  I  knew 
who  it  was." 

"  Trying  to  get  you  out  of  the  bank?  "  repeated 
Katharine,  in  surprise.  "  Oh,  Jack,  you  must  be 
mistaken." 

Jack  laughed  a  little  without  smiling. 

"There's  no  mistake,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Beman  as 
good  as  told  me  so  this  morning.  We  came  near 
having  a  row." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Katharine,  anxiously, 
and  leaning  forward  in  sympathy.  "It's  outra 
geous —  whoever  has  done  it." 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  John.  "It  was  this 
way.  In  the  first  place,  I  went  to  the  Vanbrughs' 
last  night,  after  all." 

"But  you  said  you  weren't  asked!  I'd  have 
gone,  too  —  why  didn't  you  send  me  word?  At 
least  —  I'd  have  tried  to  go,"  she  added,  recollect 
ing  that  she  had  spent  the  evening  in  her  room. 

"  I  found  a  note  when  I  came  up  town.  It  was 
very  informal,  you  know." 

"  Yes  —  they  only  asked  me  the  day  before,"  said 
Katharine.  "It  must  have  been  very  amusing. 
They  were  going  to  do  all  sorts  of  things." 


THE  E  ALSTONS.  235 

"If  you'd  been  there,  I  should  have  enjoyed  it," 
answered  John.  "  Yes,  they  did  all  sorts  of  things 

—  improvised   charades    and   tableaux  —  Crowdie 
was  there,    and  Griggs,   and   the   set.      The   best 
thing    was    a    tableau    of    Francesca    da    Rimini. 
Hester  was  Francesca  —  you  know  her  eyes.    There 
they  are ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  the  portrait. 
"  And  they  made  me  do  Paolo,  and  Griggs  murdered 
me  —  " 

"  Fancy  your  acting  in  a  tableau !  "  exclaimed 
Katharine. 

"I  never  did  before  —  but  it  was  all  improvised. 
Griggs  looked  awfully  dangerous  with  a  black 
beard  and  a  dagger.  Of  course  I  couldn't  see 
myself,  but  they  said  I  was  dark  and  thin  and 
would  do;  so  I  did  it,  just  to  make  the  thing  go. 
It  was  rather  fun  —  but  I  kept  watching  the  door 
to  see  if  you  weren't  coming.  Well  —  the  end  of 
it  was  that  we  stayed  very  late.  You  know  what  a 
fellow  Vanbrugh  is  —  he's  a  criminal  lawyer,  of 
all  things  —  and  he  knows  all  kinds  of  people. 
There  was  an  actor  and  any  number  of  musical 
people,  and  that  Russian  pianist  —  what's  his 
name?  —  Bezpodobny,  or  something  like  that. 
And  we  had  supper,  and  then  we  got  to  smoking 

—  two  or  three  of  the  women  stayed.     You  know 
Dolly  Vanbrugh  likes  smoke,  and  so  does  Hester. 
I  smoked   some   horrible    Caporal   cigarettes,  and 
they  gave   me   a  headache.     But  I   didn't  drink 
anything  —  " 


236  THE  RALSTONS. 

"I  know,  dear,"  said  Katharine,  softly. 

No  one  knew  better  than  she  what  he  had  done 
for  her  sake,  and  how  faithfully  he  was  keeping 
his  word. 

"  Well  —  I  got  a  headache,  much  worse  than  if 
I'd  had  a  lot  of  champagne  and  things.  I  shall 
have  to  live  on  milk  and  water  and  barley  sugar  if 
I  get  much  worse.  I'm  so  nervous  since  —  since 
I  gave  up  all  those  things.  But  it  will  go  off  — 
I've  asked  Routh,  and  he  says  it's  natural  —  " 

"You  didn't  tell  me,"  said  Katharine,  anxiously. 
"Why  didn't  you?" 

"  Oh  —  why  should  I?  He  came  to  the  house  — 
he  adores  my  mother,  you  know,  dear  old  man  — 
so  I  just  asked  him.  Well  —  this  morning  I  felt 
rather  fuzzy  in  the  head  —  woolly,  don't  you  know. 
And  of  course  I  got  up  early,  as  usual,  though  it 
was  awfully  late  when  I  got  to  bed.  And  then  I 
saw  no  red  ribbon  in  your  window  —  and  that  put 
me  into  a  bad  temper,  so  that  altogether  I  wasn't  in 
the  humour  to  be  bothered  much  when  I  got  to  the 
bank.  It  happened  that  there  wasn't  much  for  me 
to  do  at  first,  and  so  I  did  it,  and  got  it  out  of  the 
way,  and  I  sat  doing  nothing  —  just  like  this  — 
look  here!" 

He  rose,  and  went  and  sat  down  at  the  chair 
before  the  great  writing-table,  on  the  side  away 
from  Katharine.  He  planted  his  elbows  on  the 
big  sheet  of  blotting  paper,  and  bending  down  his 


THE  RALSTONS.  237 

head,  clasped  his  hands  over  his  forehead  in  the 
attitude  of  a  man  whose  head  hurts  him. 

"Do  you  see?"  he  asked,  looking  up  at  Katha 
rine.  "  My  head  really  ached,  and  I'd  nothing  to 
do  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  so  it  was  quite  natu 
ral." 

"Of  course!  Why  not?  Do  you  have  to  sit  up 
straight  at  the  bank,  like  school-children?" 

"  Well  —  old  Beman  seemed  to  think  BO.  He 
came  loping  along  —  he  has  a  funny  walk,  you 
know  —  and  I  didn't  see  him.  He  doesn't  often 
come  out.  So  he'd  stopped  right  in  front  of  me 
before  I  knew  he  was  there.  I  looked  up  sud 
denly  when  I  heard  him  speak,  and  I  jumped  up. 
He  asked  what  the  matter  was,  and  I  told  him 
I  had  a  headache,  which  was  rash,  I  suppose, 
considering  my  reputation.  Then  he  asked  me 
why  I  was  doing  nothing,  and  I  told  him  I'd 
finished  what  had  been  given  me  and  was  wait 
ing  for  more.  He  grunted  in  a  displeased  sort 
of  way,  and  went  off.  Then  my  head  hurt  me 
worse  than  ever,  and  I  put  my  hands  up  to  my 
forehead  again.  In  about  five  minutes,  back  comes 
old  Beman,  and  wants  to  see  me  in  his  room. 
What  do  you  think  he  said?  'An  old  and  valued 
friend  had  warned  him  that  I  had  intemperate 
habits.'  That  was  a  pleasant  way  of  opening  the 
interview.  Then  he  went  on  to  say  that  he  had 
paid  no  attention  to  the  old  and  valued  friend's 


238  THE  EALSTONS. 

warning,  but  that  I  was  so  evidently  suffering  from 
the  effects  of  over-indulgence  this  morning  that  he 
felt  it  his  duty  to  say  that  lie  could  not  tolerate 
dissipated  idlers  in  his  house  —  or  words  to  that 
purpose  —  and  that  as  he  had  already  convinced 
himself  by  a  previous  trial  —  that  was  a  year  ago, 
you  know  —  that  I  had  no  taste  for  work,  he 
begged  me  to  consider  myself  as  free  from  any 
engagement  on  the  first  of  next  month  —  which 
struck  me  as  unnecessary  warning,  considering  that 
I  get  no  salary.  That's  what  happened." 

"  It's  abominable !  "  cried  Katharine.  "  It's  out 
rageous  !  But  you  .didn't  take  it  quietly,  like  that, 
Jack?  You  said  something?  " 

"Oh,  yes  —  I  said  something  —  several  things. 
I  told  him  quite  frankly  about  myself  —  how  I'd 
been  rather  lively,  but  had  given  it  all  up  months 
ago.  It's  awful,  how  a  thing  like  that  sticks  to 
one,  Katharine !  He  was  virtuously  civil  —  but  I 
can't  help  liking  old  Beman,  all  the  same.  He 
didn't  believe  a  word  I  said.  So  I  told  him  to 
ask  Ham  Bright,  who's  their  junior  partner  and 
is  privileged  to  be  believed.  Unfortunately,  Ham 
didn't  go  to  the  Vanbrughs'  last  night  and  couldn't 
have  sworn  to  the  facts.  But  that  makes  no  differ 
ence.  Of  course,  a  year  ago  I'd  have  walked  out 
of  Beman's  then  and  there,  if  he'd  said  such 
things  to  me,  though  I  suppose  they  were  true 
then,  more  or  leo,s.  It's  different  now  —  a  good 


TUE  EALSTONS.  239 

deal  depends  on  it,  and  I  mean  to  convince  the 
old  gentleman  and  stay.  I  don't  want  him  to 
bring  any  tales  —  lies,  especially  —  to  uncle  Kob- 
ert,  who  got  me  in.  But  it's  a  wonder  we  didn't 
throttle  each  other  in  his  office  this  morning.  I 
take  some  credit  to  myself  for  having  behaved  so 
well.  But  I  confess  I  should  like  to  know  who 
the  'old  and  valued  friend '  is.  I'd  like  to  be 
alone  with  him  for  a  few  moments." 

"Yes,"  said  Katharine,  thoughtfully.  "I  wish 
I  knew.  Oh,  Jack,  what  a  shame ! "  she  cried, 
with  sudden  vehemence.  "When  you've  been 
trying  so  hard,  and  have  succeeded  so  well!  Oh 
—  those  are  the  sins  people  are  burned  everlast 
ingly  for  —  those  mean,  back-biting,  busy-body 
sins,  dressed  up  in  virtue  and  friendship !  " 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  the  everlasting  side  of 
it.  I  should  be  quite  satisfied  to  see  the  individual 
burn  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  here." 

"Jack  —  "  Katharine's  face  changed  suddenly, 
as  though  something  that  shocked  her  had  been 
forced  upon  her  mind. 

"Yes  —  what  is  it?  Have  you  guessed  who  it 
is?  Do  you  know  anything  about  it?  Tell  me!  " 

"  I  think  I  know, "  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  though  horrorstruck  by  the  discovery.  "I'm 
not  sure  —  oh,  Jack!  It's  awful!  " 

"What's  awful?     Who  do  you  think  it  is? " 

"No  —  I  won't  tell  you.     I  may  be  wrong,  you 


240  THE  R ALSTONS. 

know,  and  one  has  no  right  to  condemn  people  on 
a  guess.  But  if  it  were—  She  stopped. 

"You  mean  your  father?7'  asked  Ralston. 
"Don't  you?" 

Katharine  was  silent.  She  gave  no  sign  of 
assent  or  dissent,  but  looked  straight  into  John's 
eyes. 

"  Of  course  you  do !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  was 
in  the  bank  the  day  before  yesterday.  Don't  you 
know?  I  told  you  I  saw  him.  And  he  was  alone 
with  Mr.  Beman  in  his  room.  I  say  —  Katharine 
—  if  it  is,  you  know  —  " 

He  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but  his  lower 
jaw  went  out  viciously  as  his  lips  closed.  Not 
knowing  all  that  had  passed  between  Katharine 
and  her  father,  he  had  not  suspected  the  latter  at 
first.  It  was  only  when  he  remembered  that  he 
had  told  Katharine  of  his  appearance  at  the  bank, 
which  she  must  remember,  that  he  understood  what 
she  meant. 

"I'm  not  sure,  Jack,"  she  said.  "Don't  imag 
ine  that  I'm  sure." 

"  All  right  —  I'll  ask  Mr.  Beman  —  " 

"Don't!  "  cried  Katharine,  in  sudden  anxiety. 

"Why  not?  He's  got  no  right  to  conceal  the 
name  of  a  man  who  libels  me.  I  shall  tell  him 
that  I  wish  to  be  confronted  with  his  informant, 
and  that  as  a  gentleman  he's  bound  to  give  me  the 
chance  of  justifying  myself.  Of  course  he'll  say 


THE  BALSTONS.  241 

that  he  can't  send  for  Mr.  Lauderdale  to  discuss 
a  clerk's  character.  Then  I  think  I'll  take  Ham 
Bright  with  me  and  go  round  to  the  Trust  Com 
pany.  It  won't  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"Of  course  you  have  a  right  to,  Jack,"  said 
Katharine.  "Only,  I  hope  you  won't  do  that. 
I'm  not  cowardly,  you  know,  am  I?  But  if  you 
knew  what  it  meant  to  live  in  a  permanent 
tempest  —  " 

"Has  he  been  tormenting  you  again?"  asked 
Ralston,  quickly,  and  forgetting  his  own  troubles 
at  the  mention  of  hers. 

She  would  have  told  him  everything,  and  it 
might  have  been  better  if  she  had.  But  he  had 
frightened  her  on  the  previous  day  by  threatening 
to  insist  on  announcing  their  marriage  if  she  were 
further  troubled  at  home.  She  thought  it  wiser  to 
turn  back  to  the  original  point. 

"  If  I  were  sure  that  it  was  papa  who  spoke  to 
Mr.  Beman,  I  could  never  be  civil  to  him  again," 
she  said.  "Can  you  imagine  anything  much 
worse?  I  can't.  But  you're  quite  right  to  try 
and  stay  at  Beman' s.  It  means  a  great  deal  to 
uncle  Kobert  —  your  sticking  to  regular  work,  don't 
you  see?" 

"I  don't  know  what  will  happen  when  he  dies," 
said  Ralston,  thoughtfully.  "Nobody  else  will 
ever  do  anything  for  me,  when  he's  gone." 

"No,"  answered  Katharine,  suppressing  a  smile 
•  16 


242  THE  EALSTONS. 

at  the  thought  of  what  she  knew,  "nobody  else 
will  do  anything.  Let's  hope  that  uncle  Robert 
will  live  long  enough  to  see  you  succeed.  But  do 
you  know,  Jack,  I'm  anxious  about  him.  Of 
course  Doctor  Routh  tells  him  he'll  get  quite  well 
again,  and  I  daresay  he  will,  but  I  can't  help 
feeling  sometimes,  when  I'm  with  him—  '  she 
hesitated.  "He's  very  old,  you  know,"  she  added. 

They  talked  for  some  time  of  the  old  gentleman's 
condition,  and  he  would  have  been  pleased,  could 
he  have  heard  them,  at  their  genuine  hope  for  his 
recovery.  It  would  have  balanced  the  sentiments 
of  some  other  members  of  the  family  as  he  had 
described  them  to  Katharine  that  morning.  They 
had  much  to  say  to  one  another,  and  as  there  was 
no  especial  reason  why  John  should  go  away,  he 
stayed,  overjoyed  at  his  good  fortune  in  being  able 
to  talk  with  her  at  last  without  the  fear  of  inter 
ruption  and  of  exciting  attention,  which  beset  them 
when  they  met  at  parties. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  the  sunshine  had  turned 
red  and  was  fading  from  the  splendid  old  books  on 
the  east  wall  of  the  room,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Leek  appeared. 

"  Mr.  Alexander  Lauderdale  wishes  to  speak  with 
you,  Miss  Katharine,"  he  said,  and  then  glanced 
discreetly  at  Ralston. 

It  is  necessary  to  say  that  Leek  was  almost  as 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  state  of  the  fam- 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  243 

ily's  affairs  as  any  member  of  it,  and  that  Alex 
ander's  dislike  of  John  was  perfectly  well  known 
to  him. 

Katharine  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  phrase,  as 
though  she  had  been  struck.  Ralston  looked  at 
the  butler  and  then  at  Katharine,  wondering  what 
she  would  say.  The  library,  constructed  with  a 
view  to  avoiding  draughts,  had  only  one  door, 
which  led  into  the  hall,  so  that  John  could  not  go 
out  without  meeting  Alexander.  Katharine  had 
not  believed  that  her  father  would  come  to  make 
trouble  under  his  uncle's  roof,  but  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  old  gentleman's  habits,  and 
knew  that  he  would  be  resting  at  that  hour.  It 
was  a  difficult  situation. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Katharine,  in  a 
low  voice,  helpless,  at  first.  "I  can't  refuse  to 
see  him,  since  he  knows  I'm  in.  Can't  you  get 
out  of  the  room,  Jack?" 

"There's  no  other  door,"  answered  Ralston, 
looking  about.  "  Face  it  out.  Let  him  come  in !  " 

"I  daren't  —  he'll  make  another  scene  —  " 

"Not  before  me  —  if  he  begins,  I'll  make  him 
stop.  You  can't  send  him  away,"  he  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  whisper.  "Imagine  what  that  man 
would  think,  and  what  he'd  tell  the  other  servants. 
That  settles  it." 

Leek  stood  motionless  by  the  door  during  the 
colloquy,  which  he  could  not  overhear,  though  he 


244  THE  P  ALSTONS. 

knew  exactly  what  the  two  were  saying.  Katha 
rine  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  and  then  gave 
the  order. 

"Ask  my  father  to  go  into  the  drawing-room," 
she  said.  "I'll  come  in  a  moment." 

Ralston  laughed  softly  as  Leek  disappeared. 

"  What  idiots  we  were  —  of  course !  "  he  said. 
"  As  though  there  were  only  one  room.  Look  here, 
Katharine,"  he  continued,  taking  her  hand  as  she 
rose,  "I  could  slip  out  while  you're  in  there,  but 
I'm  not  going  to.  I  want  to  see  you  afterwards. 
I'll  wait  here." 

"Do!"  answered  Katharine.  "I  shall  feel  bet 
ter  if  I  know  you're  here.  Not  that  I'm  frightened 
—  but  —  you  understand. " 

"Perfectly,"  answered  Kalston,  looking  at  her. 

She  left  the  room  and  he  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  She  found  her  father  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  great  drawing-room,  in  the  evening  light, 
holding  his  hat,  and  still  wearing  his  thin  black 
overcoat,  as  though  he  did  not  mean  to  stay  long  — 
an  observation  which  reassured  her.  But  his  face 
was  dark  and  angry  and  his  lips  looked  dry  and 
cold.  She  stood  still  at  a  little  distance  from  him. 

"Katharine,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he 
asked,  sternly.  "Why  are  you  here?" 

"You  know  why  I'm  here,  papa,"  answered 
Katharine,  quietly,  for  she  was  determined,  if  pos 
sible,  to  avoid  an  angry  altercation. 


THE  EALSTONS.  245 

"I  suppose  you  mean  that  you've  come  here  be 
cause  I  locked  you  in  your  room  this  morning.  I 
don't  consider  that  a  reason." 

"I  think  you'll  admit  that  you  acted  hastily," 
said  Katharine.  "Besides,  have  you  any  objec 
tion  to  my  paying  uncle  Robert  a  visit  ?  I've  been 
here  before  in  the  same  way,  you  know.  You  al 
ways  seemed  pleased.  Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

She  was  trying  to  be  civil,  but  he  was  in  no 
humour  to  court  civility.  He  paid  no  attention 
to  her  invitation,  but  remained  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"You  understood  perfectly  well  why  I  locked 
the  door  this  morning,"  he  said.  "It's  of  no  use 
to  say  that  I  acted  hastily.  I  intended  that  you 
should  feel  my  authority,  and  you  shall.  One  of 
us  two  must  be  master.  I'll  not  be  browbeaten, 
and  contradicted,  and  disobeyed  by  my  own  daugh 
ter,  besides  submitting  to  any  language  she  chooses 
to  apply  to  me." 

"Do  you  propose  to  take  me  back  by  force?" 
asked  Katharine,  with  a  smile.  "  You  know  it's 
impossible.  Or  do  you  mean  to  argue  with  me? 
You  won't  convince  me,  and  you  ought  to  see  that 
you  can't." 

"  In  other  words,  you've  left  your  father'-s  house 
without  warning,  and  not  meaning  to  come  back," 
answered  Alexander  Junior,  coldly. 

"Not  at  all.     I  came   here,   with  my  mother's 


246  THE  R ALSTONS. 

consent,  to  make  a  visit.  When  you  agree  to  treat 
me  properly,  I'll  come  back.  I  certainly  won't 
stay  where  I'm  liable  to  be  locked  up  in  my  room 
by  you  at  your  discretion.  It's  not  safe.  You 
didn't  even  leave  the  key  in  the  house,  so  that  they 
might  have  brought  me  something  to  eat  if  I  hadn't 
been  able  to  get  out." 

"  You  did  get  out. " 

"By  a  mere  chance.  There  happened  to  be  a 
key  which  fitted  the  lock,  or  I  might  be  there 
still." 

"It's  where  you  should  be.  How  long  is  this 
state  of  war  to  last?  Do  you  think  I'll  endure  it 
much  longer?  You're  mistaken." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  can  do,  if  you  won't  treat 
me  like  a  human  being.  Possibly  you  may  get  to 
the  end  of  my  patience,  too." 

"Do  you  mean  to  threaten  me?  Me!"  Alex 
ander's  face  darkened  visibly,  and  he  drew  him 
self  up  to  his  full  height. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Katharine,  keeping 
her  temper.  "I  might  think  it  worth  while  to 
explain  to  uncle  Robert,  you  know.  I  don't  think 
that  he'd  be  particularly  pleased  if  he  knew  all 
you've  done.  I  merely  told  him  that  it  wasn't 
very  peaceful  in  our  house  just  now,  as  you  wanted 
me  to  marry  Mr.  Wingfield,  and  I  wouldn't.  I've 
not  told  him  anything  else  —  but  I  might,  you 
know.  I'm  likely  to  be  with  him  most  of  the 


THE  RALSTONS.  247 

day.      I  imagine   you'd   rather   not   offend  uncle 
Robert." 

Katharine  was  not  prepared  for  the  effect  pro 
duced  by  this  speech,  which  was  diametrically 
opposite  to  the  result  she  had  expected.  She  had 
imagined  that  a  reference  to  the  will  would  act 
directly  upon  her  father's  love  of  money  and  make 
him  cautious.  Instead  of  this,  however,  he  grew 
more  angry. 

"If  you  insult  me  in  this  way  again,  I  shall 
certainly  use  force,"  he  said,  in  a  harsh  way. 
"  You're  not  of  age,  and  I  believe  that  the  law  can 
constrain  you  to  obey  me,  and  the  police  will  act 
with  the  law.  How  do  you  dare  to  tell  me  that 
you  can  frighten  uncle  Robert  into  changing  his 
will!  You're  going  a  little  further  than  yester 
day.  I've  warned  you  to  be  careful.  It's  your 
own  fault  if  you  go  too  far.  The  nearest  Justice 
of  the  Peace  will  give  me  an  order  to  remove  you 
to  your  home  in  an  hour.  Don't  exasperate  me! 
Put  on  your  things  and  come  quietly  with  me.  If 
you  refuse,  I'll  act  at  once.  You  shall  come.  I 
say  it,  and  I  won't  be  disobeyed." 

"And  I  won't  be  threatened,"  answered  Katha 
rine,  with  a  rising  intonation.  "As  for  your  get 
ting  any  order  to  remove  me,  as  you  call  it,  I  doubt 
whether  you  could.^  I  rather  think  that  uncle 
Robert  is  a  much  more  powerful  person  than  you 
are,  and  that  your  policemen  would  think  twice 


248  THE  RALSTONS. 

before  trying  to  force  their  way  into  his  house. 
Don't  you  think  so  yourself?  " 

Her  anger  was  up,  too,  and  her  mother  was  not 
there  to  come  between  them.  She  forgot  that  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room  opened  upon  the  same 
hall  as  the  library,  but  that  it  was  not  closed  ex 
cept  by  a  heavy  curtain. 

"And  as  for  your  saying  that  I've  gone  a  little 
further  than  yesterday,"  she  continued,  her  deep 
voice  rising  strong  and  clear  in  the  big  room, 
"you've  gone  further,  too.  You've  been  trying 
to  hurt  me  by  hurting  the  man  I  love.  You've 
been  to  Mr.  Beman,  and  you've  told  him  that 
Jack  is  dissipated.  Yes  —  I  thought  so  —  it  was 
you  who  said  it.  You  can't  deny  it." 

"  Certainly  not !  "  exclaimed  Alexander.  "  I  was 
quite  right  to  warn  an  old  acquaintance  against 
employing  such  a  fellow.  He's  a  discredit  to  the 
bank,  he's  a  —  " 

"Stop,  papa!  I  forbid  you  to  say  such 
things  —  " 

Alexander's  great  voice  suddenly  broke  out  like 
thunder. 

"You!  You  forbid  me  to  say  what  I  please! 
I  say  that  John  Ralston's  a  reprobate,  a  man 
not  fit  to  be  received  in  decent  society,  a  low 
drunkard  —  " 

"Oh!     Is  that  what  you  say?"     John  Ealston 


THE  E ALSTONS.  249 

drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  entered  the  room  as  he 
spoke. 

Katharine  turned  pale,  but  her  father  was  no 
coward.  His  steely  eyes  fixed  themselves  on 
John's  face. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

As  Alexander  Junior  came  towards  him,  John 
Kalston  advanced  from  the  door.  Katharine  placed 
herself  between  them,  very  much  as  her  mother 
had  come  between  her  father  and  herself  on  the 
previous  afternoon.  But  Ralston  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  her  arm,  and  drew  her  back. 

"Please  go  into  the  library,  Katharine, "  he  said. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  cried,  in  answer.  "  I  can't  leave 
you  together  —  so." 

"  Please  go !  "  he  repeated.  "  I'm  angry  —  I 
must  speak  —  I  can't  before  you." 

He  pushed  her  with  tender  anxiety  towards  the 
door,  and  she  felt  his  hand  tremble  on  her  arm. 
She  yielded  after  a  little  hesitation,  but  paused  as 
she  reached  the  curtain,  and  looked  back.  John 
went  on  and  faced  Alexander,  supposing  that  Kath 
arine  had  left  the  room. 

"  So  it  was  you  who  spoke  to  Mr.  Beman  about 
me, "  said  Ralston,  in  a  tone  of  menace. 

"You're  an  eavesdropper,  sir,"  answered  Alex 
ander  Junior,  with  contempt. 

"  As  you  were  shouting,  and  the  door  was  open, 
I  couldn't  help  hearing  what  you  said,  Mr.  Lau- 
250 


THE  EALSTONS.  251 

derdale.  I  was  anxious  about  Katharine,  and  had 
come  into  the  hall." 

"  Then  you've  heard  my  opinion  of  you.  You're 
not  likely  to  change  it  by  trying  to  browbeat  me." 

"  I'm  not  browbeating  you,  as  you  call  it. 
You've  been  saying  things  about  me  which  are 
untrue.  You've  got  to  take  them  back." 

Alexander  Lauderdale  drew  himself  up  to  his 
height,  resting  one  clenched  hand  upon  his  hip. 
The  other  held  his  hat.  He  looked  a  dangerous 
adversary  as  he  stood  there,  lean  and  steely,  his 
firm  face  set  like  an  angry  mask,  his  broad  shoul 
ders  square  and  black  against  the  evening  light. 

"It  occurs  to  me  to  ask  how  you  propose  to 
make  me  take  back  anything  I've  said,"  he  an 
swered.  , 

Ralston  looked  at  him  quietly  for  several 
seconds,  as  a  man  looks  who  measures  another's 
strength.  Not  that  he  had  the  slightest  thought 
of  violence,  even  then;  but  he  was  a  born  fighter 
as  much  as  Alexander,  if  not  more  so.  His  in 
stinct  was  always  to  strike  rather  than  speak,  in 
any  quarrel.  In  a  hand-to-hand  encounter  he 
would  have  been  overmatched  by  the  elder  man, 
and  he  knew  it.  But  that  was  not  the  reason 
why  he  lowered  his  voice  and  tried  to  speak 
more  calmly,  instead  of  growing  hotter  in  alter 
cation. 

"You've   done   me  a  very  great   injustice,  and 


252  THE  RALSTONS. 

youVe  almost  done  me  a  serious  injury  —  per 
haps  you  really  have,  for  Mr.  Beman  has  turned 
me  out,"  he  said.  "It's  customary,  I  think,  for 
people  like  us  to  repair  such  injuries  as  well  as 
they  can." 

"You've  injured  yourself  by  your  habits,"  an 
swered  Alexander.  "I've  a  perfect  right  to  say 
so.  Don't  contest  it." 

"It's  contestable,  at  all  events.  I'm  willing 
to  admit  that  I've  been  what's  called  dissipated. 
More  than  most  men,  I  daresay." 

"  That's  undeniable,  and  that's  precisely  what  I 
said,  or  words  to  the  same  effect." 

"  I  think  not.  You  were  telling  Katharine  just 
now  that  I  was  a  drunkard  and  a  reprobate.  I've 
not  touched  wine  for  months,  and  as  for  being  a 
reprobate  —  it's  a  strong  word,  but  rather  vague. 
Since  you've  used  it,  please  define  what  you 
mean  by  it." 

"  It's  a  general  term  of  disapprobation  which  I 
applied  to  you  because  I  think  you're  a  bad  char 
acter." 

"  Accusations  of  that  sort  have  to  be  supported. 
You  must  go  with  me  to  Mr.  Beman  to-morrow, 
and  repeat  what  you've  said." 

"  Indeed?     I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  If  Mr.  Beman  asks  you  to  do  it,  you'll  have  to 
—  at  the  risk  of  losing  your  character  for  truthful- 


THE  B  ALSTONS.  253 

"Are  you  calling  me  a  liar?"  asked  Alex 
ander,  and  his  voice  rose  angrily  as  lie  stepped 
forward. 

"  No, "  answered  Ralston,  calmly,  but  in  a  doubt 
ful  tone.  "  I'm  not.  But  you've  made  an  accusa 
tion,  and  if  you  fail  to  prove  it,  Mr.  Beman  will 
form  his  opinion  about  you.  I  formed  mine  long 
ago.  I'm  turning  out  to  be  right." 

"I'm  quite  indifferent  to  your  opinion,"  said 
Alexander,  contemptuously.  "And  you're  not  in 
a  position  to  influence  that  of  lifelong  friends  like 
Mr.  Beman.  We'd  better  end  this  discussion  at 
once.  It  can  lead  to  nothing." 

Katharine,  who  still  stood  by  the  door,  her  hand 
on  the  curtain,  devoutly  wished  that  in  this,  at 
least,  John  would  follow  her  father's  suggestion. 
She  had  a  woman's  instinctive  fear  of  violence  be 
tween  men  —  a  fear,  strange  to  say,  which  has  a 
fascination  in  it.  If  John  had  been  inwardly  as 
calm  as  he  outwardly  appeared  to  be,  he  would 
undoubtedly  have  seen  that  Alexander  was  right 
in  this.  But  the  insulting  words  which  he  had 
inevitably  overheard  rankled,  as  well  they  might, 
and  against  all  probability  of  success,  he  still  hoped 
that  Alexander  would  make  some  acknowledgment 
of  having  been  in  the  wrong.  He  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  made  two  or  three  steps,  his 
head  bent  in  thought.  Then  he  turned  upon  his 
adversary  suddenly  again. 


254  THE  RALSTONS. 

"Do  you  know  —  or  don't  you  —  that  I've  given 
up  wine  since  last  winter?"  he  enquired. 

"I've  heard  it  stated,"  answered  Alexander. 
"I  don't  know  it." 

"Well  —  it's  true.  I  tell  you  so  now.  1  sup 
pose  you'll  make  no  further  difficulty  about  taking 
back  what  you  said  to  Katharine  just  now  —  that 
I'm  a  drunkard?  " 

"If  you  have  given  up  wine,  you  are  certainly 
not  a  drunkard  —  at  present.  That's  axiomatic.'' 
Alexander  sneered. 

"Will  you  remove  the  condition?  I  say  that  \ 
have  given  up  wine." 

"I  should  hesitate  to  accept  your  unsupported 
evidence." 

"In  other  words,  you  don't  admit  that  I'm, 
speaking  the  truth?  Is  that  what  you  mean  to 
say?  Yes,  or  no." 

"I  don't  accept  your  unsupported  evidence," 
repeated  Alexander,  pleased  with  his  own  phrase. 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  saying?  It's  simply 
stating  that  I'm  not  to  be  believed.  You  can't 
put  any  other  meaning  upon  your  words." 

"I  don't  wish  to,"  answered  Alexander,  driven 
to  stand  by  what  he  haci  said,  but  conscious  that 
he  had  gone  too  far. 

A  pause  followed.  John  was  very  pale.  Alex 
ander  Lauderdale's  face  was  dark  with  the  blood 
that  rose  slowly  under  the  grey  olive  skin.  The 
hand  that  held  hi??  hat  swung  quickly  by  his  side 


THE  RALSTONS.  255 

once   or   twice.     Ralston's    lingers   twitched   ner 
vously.     By  the  door,  Katharine  held  her  breath. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  said  John,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I'm  not  going  to  strike  you  here,  but 
when  I  meet  you  in  the  street  I  will." 

"Jack!  Jack!"  cried  Katharine,  rushing  for 
ward  and  catching  his  arm,  and  throwing  the  other 
of  her  own  round  his  neck. 

She  knew  how  much  stronger  her  father  was 
than  he.  At  the  sight  of  her,  the  deep  red  colour 
appeared  at  last  in  Alexander's  face,  and  his  anger 
got  the  better  of  him  altogether. 

"Take  your  arms  from  that  man's  neck!"  he 
cried,  furiously.  "  Don't  touch  him,  I  say !  " 

But  Katharine  did  not  release  her  hold.  A 
woman's  idea  of  protecting  a  man  is  to  wind  her 
self  round  him,  so  as  to  make  him  perfectly  help 
less  to  defend  himself. 

"Let  me  go,  dear,"  said  Ralston,  in  a  voice  sud 
denly  tender,  but  trembling  a  little. 

"Katharine!  Go,  I  say !  "  The  white  of  Alex 
ander's  eyes  was  bloodshot. 

But  Katharine  tried  to  drag  John  back  from  him 
as  he  advanced. 

"  Go !  Leave  the  room ! "  cried  Alexander, 
roughly. 

With  a  quick  movement  he  seized  her  arm, 
almost  where  he  had  grasped  it  on  the  previous 
day,  and  he  tried  to  pull  her  away  from  Kalston. 
His  strong  hand  hurt  her.  At  the  same  time  E-ala- 


256  THE  RALSTONS. 

ton,  not  seeing  how  tightly  Alexander  held  her, 
tried  to  disengage  himself  from  her,  as  gently  as 
he  could.  The  struggle  was  not  apparently  vio 
lent,  yet  Katharine  was  exerting  all  her  strength 
to  cling  to  Kalston. 

The  floor,  under  the  Persian  rug,  was  highly 
polished.  As  Katharine  stood,  overbalanced  in 
her  strained  position,  the  carpet  slipped  under  her 
feet.  With  a  short,  half -suppressed  cry,  more  of 
surprise  than  of  fear,  she  relaxed  her  hands,  fell 
sideways,  and  swung  downward,  her  arm  still  in 
her  father's  iron  grip.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was 
trying  to  hold  her  up,  though  in  reality  he  had 
thrown  her  down.  Suddenly  she  uttered  a  pierc 
ing  scream,  and  turned  livid,  as  she  fell  upon  the 
floor,  and  her  father  let  go  her  arm. 

At  the  same  instant  John  Ralston  struck  Alex 
ander  Lauderdale  a  violent  blow  on  the  mouth, 
which  sent  the  taller  man  staggering  back  two 
paces.  It  all  happened  in  an  instant.  Alexander 
sprang  forward  again  instinctively,  and  struck  at 
John,  who  dodged  the  blow  and  closed  with  him. 
They  were  better  matched  at  wrestling  than  with 
fists,  for  Kalston,  though  less  strong  by  far,  was 
the  quicker,  and  had  the  advantage  of  youth. 
They  swayed  and  twisted  upon  each  other,  the  two 
lean,  tough  men,  like  tigers. 

Katharine  struggled  to  her  feet.  In  getting  up 
she  tried  to  use  her  right  hand,  and  uttered  another 


THE  EALSTONS.  257 

cry  of  pain,  as  her  weight  rested  on  it  a  moment 
in  making  the  effort.  It  was  quite  powerless. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  room  was  full  of  people. 
Katharine's  scream  had  echoed  through  the  open 
door  all  over  the  house.  The  butler,  the  footmen, 
and  the  housemaids  flocked  in.  The  cry  was  heard 
even  in  Robert  Lauderdale 's  bedroom,  and  he  was 
not  asleep. 

The  old  man  started,  listened,  and  raised  him- 
self  on  his  elbow,  at  the  same  time  touching  the 
bell  by  which  he  called  his  nurse.  She  had  gone 
out  upon  the  landing,  to  try  and  find  out  what  was 
the  matter,  but  ran  back  at  the  sound  of  the  bell. 

"What  is  it?  What's  happened?"  asked  old 
Lauderdale,  and  there  was  an  unwonted  colour  in 
his  face. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  answered  the 
nurse,  a  calm,  ugly,  middle-aged  woman  from  New 
England.  "It  was  a  woman's  voice.  Shall  I  go 
and  ask?  " 

"No  —  no!"  he  cried,  huskily.  "It  was  my 
niece  —  help  me  up,  Mrs.  Deems  —  help  me  up. 
I'll  go  as  I  am." 

He  was  clad  in  loose  garments  of  white  velvet 
—  the  only  luxurious  fancy  of  his  old  age.  He 
got  up  on  his  feet,  steadying  himself  by  the 
nurse's  arm. 

"  Let  me  ring  for  the  men,  Mr.  Lauderdale, "  she 
said,  rather  anxiously. 

VOL.    I.  —  17 


258  THE  EALSTONS. 

"No,  no!  I  can  go  so,  if  you'll  help  me  a 
little  —  oh,  God!  The  child  must  be  hurt!  Quick, 
Mrs.  Deems  —  I  can  walk  quicker  than  this  —  hold 
your  arm  a  little  higher,  please.  Yes  —  we  shall 
get  along  nicely  so  —  why  didn't  I  have  a  lift  in 
the  house!  I  was  always  so  strong!  Quickly, 
Mrs.  Deems  —  quickly." 

When  Robert  Lauderdale  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  he  saw  a  crowd  of  people  gathering  together 
round  something  which  they  hid  from  him. 

"  Go  away !  Go  away !  "  he  cried,  in  his  hollow, 
broken  voice. 

The  servants  fell  back  at  the  voice  of  the  master, 
only  the  butler  remaining  at  hand.  Katharine 
was  lying  back  in  a  deep  arm-chair,  her  broken  arm 
resting  upon  a  little  table  which  had  been  hastily 
pushed  to  her  side.  John  Ralston  was  bending 
over  it,  and  looking  at  it  rather  helplessly,  as  pale 
as  death.  Opposite  him,  on  Katharine's  left,  stood 
her  father,  his  face  still  darkly  flushed,  his  lips 
swollen  and  purple  from  Ralston's  blow. 

"  Clear  the  room  —  and  send  for  Doctor  Routh, " 
said  old  Lauderdale,  turning  his  head  a  little 
towards  Leek  as  he  passed  him. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I'm  afraid  it's  broken,"  Ralston  was  saying, 
and  his  hands  trembled  violently  as  he  softly 
passed  them  over  Katharine's  arm. 

Mrs.  Deems  was  already  undoing  the  buttons  of 


THE  EALSTONS.  259 

the  tight  sleeve  which  chanced  to  be  the  fashion 
at  that  time.  Robert  Lauderdale  pushed  Alex 
ander  aside,  and  bent  down  (Tver  the  chair,  sup 
porting  himself  with  his  hands. 

"Katharine  —  little  girl  —  you're  hurt,  dear,"  he 
said,  as  gently  as  his  hoarseness  would  let  him 
speak.  "How  did  it  happen?" 

"It  won't  be  anything,"  she  said,  in  answer, 
shaking  her  head  and  trying  to  smile. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  repeated  the  old  man, 
standing  up  again,  and  steadying  himself,  as  he 
looked  anxiously  at  Kalston. 

But  Ralston  did  not  answer  at  once.  Across  the 
old  gentleman's  shoulder  his  eyes  met  Alexander's 
for  an  instant. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  what  you  did,  or  shall 
I?"  he  asked,  fiercely. 

"What?  What?"  asked  old  Robert,  in  sur 
prise.  "What's  this?"  He  looked  from  one  to 
the  other. 

"Well  —  "  Alexander  began,  "it's  rather  hard 
to  explain  —  " 

"You're  mistaken,"  interrupted  Ralston, 
promptly.  "It's  perfectly  simple.  You  threw 
Katharine  down,  and  she  broke  her  arm." 

"  You  —  threw  Katharine  —  down !  "  repeated 
the  old  man,  the  first  words  spoken  in  wonder, 
the  last  in  wrath. 

"Not  at  all,  uncle  Robert,"  protested  Alexander. 


260  THE  RALSTONS. 

"Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  I'm  such  a 
man  as  to  —  " 

"I  don't  care  what  sort  of  man  you  are!" 
retorted  Robert  Lauderdale.  "If  you've  laid 
hands  on  Katharine,  you  shall  leave  the  house  — 
for  the  last  time.  Tell  me  what  happened,  Jack 
—  Katharine  —  both  of  you !  " 

"We  quarrelled  and  didn't  see  Katharine,"  said 
John,  his  brown  eyes  on  tire.  "  She  thought  we'd 
fight,  and  ran  forward  and  held  me  round  the  neck 
to  keep  us  apart.  Her  father  dragged  her  away 
violently  and  she  fell.  Then  I  hit  him." 

"  I  didn't  drag  her  violently  —  " 

"  Katharine  —  isn't  that  what  happened?  "  asked 
Ralston. 

Old  Lauderdale  bent  down  towards  her  again  — 
but  there  was  no  need  of  looking  into  her  eyes  to 
find  the  truth  there.  Her  only  thought  was  for 
Ralston,  and  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  She 
loved  him  as  few  women  love.  She  had  loved  him 
through  good  and  evil  report,  with  all  her  soul. 
And  she  was  ruthless  of  others,  as  loving  women 
are.  For  his  sake,  she  would  have  sent  her  father 
to  the  gallows,  if  he  had  done  murder,  and  if  the 
one  word  which  might  have  saved  him  could  have 
done  Ralston  the  least  hurt. 

"It's  exactly  as  Jack  says,"  she  answered,  in 
clear  tones.  "He  pulled  me  from  Jack  and  threw 
me  down." 


THE  RALSTONS.  261 

Then  the  old  man's  wrath  broke  out  like  flame. 
But  there  was  a  little  pause  first.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  pale  cheeks,  his  bony  hands  were 
clenched,  and  the  old  veins  swelled  to  bursting  in 
his  throat  and  at  his  temples.  The  broken,  harsh 
voice  thundered  and  crashed  as  he  cursed  his 
nephew. 

"God  damn  you,  sir!  Leave  my  house  this 
instant!" 

Alexander  Lauderdale  Junior  had  got  his  deserts 
and  more  also,  and  he  knew  it.  But  he  stood  still 
where  he  was. 

"It's  useless  to  argue  with  a  man  in  your 
state  —  "  he  began. 

"Are  you  going,  you  damned  coward?"  roared 
old  Robert.  "Ring  the  bell,  Jack  —  send  for  the 
men  —  turn  that  brute  out  —  " 

He  was  beside  himself  with  rage,  but  John 
glanced  at  Alexander,  and  then  walked  slowly 
towards  the  nearest  bell.  He  was  not  inclined  to 
spare  the  man  who  had  injured  Katharine.  Per 
haps  most  men  in  his  position  would  have  carried 
out  the  orders  of  the  master  of  the  house.  Seeing 
that  he  was  in  the  act  to  press  the  button,  Alex 
ander  yielded.  It  was  not  at  all  probable  that  the 
millionaire's  half  dozen  Englishmen  would  disobey 
their  master,  and  Robert  was  capable  at  the  pres 
ent  moment  of  having  him  literally  kicked  into 
the  middle  of  the  street.  He  had  the  temper  that 


262  THE  RALSTONS. 

ran  through  all  the  blood  of  the  Lauderdale  tribe, 
and  it  was  up  —  the  fierce,  Lowland  Scotch  temper 
that  is  hard  to  rouse,  and  long  controllable,  but 
dangerous  at  the  last.  He  had  disliked  and  despised 
his  nephew  for  years,  but  had  not  sought  occasion 
against  him.  The  occasion  had  come  suddenly  and 
by  violence,  and  the  wild  beast  in  him  was  let 
loose. 

Katharine's  eyes  followed  her  father's  tall  figure, 
as  he  stalked  out  of  the  room,  with  an  odd  ex 
pression.  She  was  avenged  for  much  in  that 
moment. 

"  Brute ! "  growled  Robert  Lauderdale,  as  he 
disappeared  behind  the  curtain. 

"Infernal  scoundrel!  "  answered  Ralston, through 
his  closed  teeth. 

"I'm  so  sorry  I  screamed,  uncle  Robert,"  said 
Katharine.  "  I  waked  you  —  " 

Mrs.  Deems  interrupted  her.  She  had  ripped 
the  seam  of  the  tight  sleeve,  for  she  knew  that  it 
could  not  be  drawn  over  the  broken  arm.  On  the 
white  flesh  there  were  two  sets  of  marks  —  the  one 
red,  and  evidently  produced  in  the  late  struggle. 
The  others  were  black  and  blue.  They  were  side 
by  side,  the  one  set  a  little  higher  than  the  second. 
The  arm  was  already  much  swollen.  Mrs.  Deems 
li.id  listened  in  silence  to  what  had  been  said,  and 
her  womanly  heart  had  risen  in  sympathy  for 
Katharine.  She  touched  Kobert  Lauderdale's 


THE  R ALSTONS.  263 

sleeve,  and  pointed  to  the  old  marks  on  Katha 
rine's  arm,  calling  his  attention  to  them. 

"Those  weren't  made  now,  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  she 
said,  in  a  low,  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"  No  —  it  was  last  night, "  said  Katharine,  rather 
faintly.  "Jack,  dear — get  me  a  cup  of  tea.  I 
don't  feel  well." 

Kalston  hurried  away,  saying  something  to  him 
self  which  was  not  audible  to  the  others,  and  which 
may  as  well  be  omitted  here.  The  black  and 
white  of  paper  and  ink  make  youth's  blood  seem 
too  red.  Old  Lauderdale's  anger  was  still  at  the 
boiling-point,  and  broke  out  again. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he's  been  maltreat 
ing  you,  child?"  he  asked,  his  face  reddening 
again.  "  If  he  has  —  " 

"  No  —  not  exactly,  uncle  dear  —  I'll  tell  you  — 
but  —  I'm  a  little  faint.  Don't  worry." 

She  sighed  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  she  finished 
speaking.  She  was  in  great  pain  now  that  the 
arm  was  swelling. 

"Best  not  talk,  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  said  Mrs. 
Deems.  "I'll  get  some  ice  and  napkins." 

And  she  also  left  the  room.  The  old  man,  alone 
with  Katharine,  bent  over  her  with  difficulty,  and 
kissed  her  white  forehead.  His  old  head  trembled 
as  he  raised  himself  again  and  looked  shyly  round, 
as  though  he  had  done  something  to  be  ashamed  of. 
The  young  girl  opened  her  eyes,  smiled  a  little, 
and  closed  them  again  at  once. 


264  THE   EALSTONS. 

"Do  you  feel  very  ill,  little  girl?"  asked  Kobert 
Lauderdale. 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  the  evident 
attempt  to  make  his  unnatural,  hollow  voice  sound 
gentle  and  kind,  and  lie  stroked  her  thick  black 
hair  with  one  bony  hand,  while  the  other  rested  on 
the  back  of  the  chair. 

"  Oh,  no  —  it's  nothing  —  only  the  pain  in  my 
arm.  Don't  be  frightened,  uncle  Kobert  —  I'm 
not  going  to  die !  " 

She  tried  to  laugh  to  reassure  him.  Then  a 
sharp  twinge  from  the  broken  limb  drew  her  face. 
The  expression  of  her  suffering  was  instantly  re 
flected  in  the  old  man's  features,  and  his  bushy 
white  eyebrows  bent  themselves. 

"Kouth  will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  he  said,  as 
though  reassuring  her.  "I've  sent  for  him." 

She  nodded  her  thanks,  but  said  nothing.  Then 
with  her  left  hand  she  found  one  of  his,  and 
pressed  it  affectionately.  He  lifted  hers,  and 
pressed  his  bearded  lips  to  it  softly. 

"It  will  be  the  worse  for  him,"  he  said,  consol 
ing  her,  as  many  men  console  women,  with  the 
promise  of  vengeance. 

In  his  mouth  the  words  might  mean  much. 
There  are  few  things  which  a  just  man,  justly 
angry,  cannot  accomplish  against  an  offender,  witli 
the  aid  of  eighty  millions  of  working  capital,  so  to 
say.  Moreover,  Kobert  Lauderdale  was  not  dead 


THE  11  ALSTONS.  265 

yet,  and  could  so  change  his  will,  if  he  pleased,  as 
to  keep  Alexander  from  ever  receiving  any  share 
whatsoever  of  the  great  fortune. 

But  Katharine  was  avenged  already,  and  wished 
no  further  evil  to  her  father.  She  had  seen  him 
humiliated  and  driven  from  the  house,  and  she  hud 
felt  that  he  was  not  her  father,  but  the  man  who 
had  insulted  and  cruelly  wronged  John  Kalston, 
her  lawful  husband.  She  had  not  seen  the  blow 
Ralston  had  struck,  for  at  that  moment  she  had 
just  fallen  to  the  floor.  But  all  the  rest  had  hap 
pened  before  her  eyes,  and  she  had  neither  spoken 
word  nor  made  sign  to  spare  him.  So  far,  she  had 
been  utterly  merciless. 

Afterwards,  she  wondered  how  she  could  have 
been  so  utterly  hard  and  unforgiving,  and  tried  to 
remember  what  she  had  felt,  but  she  found  it  im 
possible.  It  is  hard  to  recall  an  old  scald  when 
one  is  floating  in  cool  water.  Not  that  she  ever 
forgave  her  father  for  what  he  did  and  said  during 
those  twenty-four  hours  —  that  is,  in  the  sense  of 
forgiving  entirely  and  thinking  of  him  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  That  would  have  been 
impossible  —  perhaps  it  would  have  been  scarcely 
human.  The  virtue  that  turns  the  other  cheek  to 
be  smitten  is  in  danger  of  having  its  head  broken 
by  the  second  buffet,  for  cowardice  takes  arms  of 
charity.  But  they  did  not  quarrel  to  the  end  of 
their  natural  lives,  and  it  seemed  strange  to  Kath- 


266  THE  EALSTONS. 

arine,  at  a  later  period,  that  she  should  have  looked 
on  with  a  calm  satisfaction  that  soothed  her  bodily 
pain  while  Robert  Lauderdale  ordered  her  father 
to  be  forcibly  turned  out  of  the  house.  But  that 
is  not  strange,  for  humanity's  hardest  present 
problem  is  almost  always  the  problem  of  yester 
day,  which  is  in  black  and  white,  rather  than  the 
expectation  of  to-morrow,  confusedly  shadowed 
upon  the  mist  of  what  is  not  yet,  by  the  light  of 
the  hope  of  what  may  be. 

There  was  a  sort  of  justice,  too,  in  the  fact  that 
Robert  Lauderdale,  who  had  once  quarrelled  with 
John  during  the  winter,  should  now  be  taking  his 
side,  and  be  forced  to  take  it  by  every  conviction 
of  fairness.  The  only  thing  which  Katharine  could 
not  understand  was  her  father's  own  behaviour 
towards  his  uncle.  It  was  in  accordance  with  his 
temper  that  he  should  behave  to  her  as  he  had  be 
haved,  and  to  John  Ralston  also.  But  it  would 
have  seemed  more  natural  that  he  should  have 
controlled  himself,  even  by  a  great  effort,  rather 
than  have  risked  offending  the  possessor  of  the  for 
tune.  On  that  afternoon  he  had  seemed  from  the 
first  to  be  braving  the  old  man's  anger.  This  was 
a  mystery  to  Katharine.  It  seemed  almost  like 
premeditation.  Yet  she  knew  her  father's  limita 
tions,  and  was  sure  that  he  was  not  able  to  form  a 
deep  scheme  and  carry  it  out,  while  mystifying 
every  one  who  looked  on.  He  was  dull,  he  was 


THE  EALSTONS.  267 

methodical,  he  was  exact.  He  was  also  miserly,  as 
she  had  lately  discovered.  But  he  was  a  man  to 
keep  a  secret,  rather  than  to  produce  one  which 
should  need  keeping,  and  she  almost  suspected 
that  he  had  lost  his  senses  out  of  sheer  anger, 
though  she  knew  that  he  was  able  to  control  his 
temper  longer  than  most  men,  when  he  pleased. 

So  far  as  the  present  was  concerned,  she  felt,  as 
she  might  well  feel,  that  she  was  amply  avenged, 
and  when  Robert  Lauderdale  seemed  to  be  threat 
ening  further  vengeance,  she  protested. 

"Don't  make  it  any  worse,  uncle  Robert,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort,  for  she  was  growing  very 
faint.  "  But  you  must  keep  me  here  till  I'm  well, 
if  you  will.  I  can't  go  home  to  him  now." 

"  Of  course,  child  —  of  course !  Should  you  like 
your  mother  to  come  and  take  care  of  you?  " 

"Oh,  no  —  thank  you  —  let  me  be  with  you. 
We'll  be  invalids  together,  you  know."  She 
smiled  again,  opening  and  closing  her  eyes. 
"Don't  forget  yourself,  now,"  she  continued. 
"  You've  had  too  much  exertion  —  too  much  excite 
ment  —  sit  down  and  rest  —  here  they  come  with 
the  tea  and  things." 

John  and  Mrs.  Deems  entered  in  close  succes 
sion.  John  had  insisted  upon  bringing  the  tea- 
tray  himself,  after  overcoming  Leek's  objection 
with  the  greatest  difficulty.  But  Leek  appeared, 
nevertheless,  playing  footman  to  Ealston  as  butler, 


268  THE  RALSTONS. 

so  to  say,  and  bearing  a  folding  stand,  which  he  set 
down  beside  Katharine.  Mrs.  Deems  had  a  bowl 
of  ice  and  a  pile  of  napkins,  with  which  she  in 
tended  to  cool  Katharine's  arm  until  Dr.  Routh 
arrived. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir, "  said  Leek  to  the  old  gentle 
man.  "The  old  brougham  was  just  in  with  the 
bays,  from  exercise,  William  said,  sir,  so  I  sent 
him  as  he  was  for  Doctor  Routh,  sir.  I  hope  I 
did  right,  sir?" 

"Quite  right,  Leek  —  very  sensible  of  you,"  an 
swered  the  old  gentleman.  "Just  help  me  to  a 
chair,  will  you?  I'm  a  little  stiff  from  standing 
so  long.  And  get  us  some  light.  It's  growing 
dark." 

Leek  and  Ralston  installed  him  in  a  comfortable 
chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  tea-table.  Mrs. 
Deems  was  packing  Katharine's  arm  in  ice.  The 
.young  girl's  face  twitched  nervously  at  first,  but 
grew  calmer  as  the  cold  began  to  overcome  the 
inflammation. 

Old  Lauderdale  watched  the  operation  with 
interest  and  sympathy.  No  one  but  Mrs.  Deems 
knew  what  Katharine  must  have  suffered  before  she 
began  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  ice.  Ralston  stood 
by  in  silence,  looking  at  Katharine's  face  and  ready 
to  help  if  he  were  needed,  which  was  far  from 
probable.  He  was  still  pale,  and  the  passions  so 
furiously  roused  were  still  at  work  within  him. 


THE  EALSTONS.  269 

He  could  not  help  dreaming  of  his  next  meeting 
with  Alexander  Junior,  wondering  when  it  would 
take  place  and  what  would  happen;  but  he  had 
the  deep  and  incomparable  satisfaction  of  an  angry 
man  who  has  dealt  his  enemy  one  successful  blow. 
There  had  been  nothing  wrong  about  that  blow 
—  it  had  gone  straight  from  the  shoulder,  it  had 
not  been  parried,  and  it  had  crushed  the  mouth  he 
hated.  And  even  afterwards,  in  the  struggle  that 
had  followed,  Alexander  had  not  thrown  him,  in 
spite  of  size  and  weight  in  his  favour  —  these  had 
been  matched  by  youth  and  quickness.  The  mo 
ment  the  two  men  had  seen  that  Katharine  was 
hurt,  they  had  loosed  their  hold  on  one  another 
and  gone  to  her,  just  as  the  servants  had  rushed 
into  the  room.  But  John  was  not  satisfied,  as 
Katharine  was.  He  had  tasted  blood,  and  he 
thirsted  for  more  —  to  have  his  fight  out,  and  win 
or  be  beaten  without  interference.  He  meant  to 
win,  and  he  knew  he  could  make  even  defeat 
dangerous,  for  he  was  quick  of  his  hands  and  feet, 
and  tough. 

Of  the  three,  old  Eobert  was  the  first  to  regain 
his  equanimity.  Of  all  the  Lauderdale  tempers, 
his  was  the  least  hard  to  rouse  and  the  soonest  to 
expend  itself,  and  therefore  the  least  dangerous. 
It  was  commonly  said  among  them  that  Katharine 
Ralston,  John's  mother,  who  had  hardly  ever  been 
seen  angry,  had  the  most  deadly  temper  in  the 


270  THE  RALSTONS. 

family,  though  it  was  not  easy  to  tell  on  what  the 
tradition  rested.  John  and  Alexander  had  cer 
tainly  not  the  best,  and  it  was  safe  to  predict 
that  when  they  met  again  there  would  be  war. 

The  old  gentleman  had  made  very  unwonted 
exertions  that  afternoon,  and  before  she  had  fin 
ished  doing  what  she  could  for  Katharine's  arm, 
Mrs.  Deems  became  anxious  about  him.  His 
cheeks  grew  hollow,  and  as  the  blood  sank  away 
from  them  his  face  became  almost  ghastly.  Rals 
ton  looked  at  him  attentively  and  then  glanced  at 
the  nurse.  She  nodded,  and  got  a  stimulant  and 
gave  it  to  him,  and  felt  his  pulse,  and  shook  her 
head  almost  imperceptibly. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  the  doctor  was  sent  for?  " 
she  asked  of  Ralston,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  must  be  twenty  minutes,  I  should  think. " 

"  Oh  —  longer  than  that,  I'm  sure !  "  exclaimed 
Katharine,  whose  suffering  lengthened  time. 

"  He'll  be  here  presently,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Deems, 
somewhat  reassured.  "How  do  you  feel,  Mr. 
Lauderdale?  A  little  weak?  " 

"All  right,"  growled  the  broken  voice.  "Take 
care  of  Katharine." 

But  he  did  not  open  his  eyes,  and  spoke  rather 
as  though  he  were  dreaming,  than  as  if  he  were 
awake. 

"Provided  he's  at  home,"  said  Ralston,  half 
aloud  and  thinking  of  the  doctor.  "Hadn't  we 
better  send  for  some  one  else,  too?" 


THE  EALSTONS.  271 

He  addressed  the  question  to  everybody,  in  a 
general  way. 

"Best  wait  till  the  carriage  comes  back,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Deems. 

This  seemed  sensible,  and  a  silence  followed 
which  lasted  some  time.  Ralston  stood  motionless 
beside  the  nurse.  Katharine  had  swallowed  some 
tea  and  lay  quietly  in  her  chair,  while  the  skilful 
woman  did  her  best  with  the  ice  and  napkins.  The 
old  man's  jaw  had  dropped  a  little,  and  he  was 
breathing  heavily,  as  though  asleep.  Mrs.  Deems 
did  not  like  the  sound,  for  she  glanced  at  him  more 
and  more  uneasily. 

"There,  Miss  Katharine,"  she  said,  at  last, 
"that's  the  best  we  can  do  till  the  doctor  comes. 
I  think  it's  only  the  small  bone  that's  broken,  but 
I  don't  like  to  handle  it.  I  guess  it's  better  to 
leave  it  so  till  he  comes.  Best  not  try  to  move 
yourself." 

Then  she  went  round  the  table  to  old  Lauderdale 
again,  listened  attentively  to  his  breathing  and  felt 
his  pulse. 

"Are  you  asleep,  Mr.  Lauderdale?"  she  asked, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

The  jaw  moved,  and  he  spoke  some  unintelligible 
words. 

"I  can't  hear  what  you  say,"  said  Mrs.  Deems, 
bending  down  anxiously. 

He  cleared  his  throat,  coughed  a  little  and  spoke 
louder. 


272  THE  RALSTONS. 

11  Take  care  of  Katharine, "  he  said,  still  without 
opening  his  eyes. 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  uncle  Robert,"  said 
Katharine,  looking  at  him  with  anxiety. 

Both  she  and  Ralston  turned  enquiring  glances 
to  Mrs.  Deems.  She  merely  shook  her  head  sadly 
and  said  nothing.  Kalston  beckoned  to  her  to 
come  and  speak  with  him.  She  poured  out  another 
dose  of  the  old  man's  stimulant  and  set  it  to  his 
lips.  He  swallowed  it  rather  eagerly  and  without 
difficulty.  Then  she  glanced  at  Ralston  and  left 
the  room.  A  moment  later  he  followed  her,  and 
found  her  waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
curtain. 

"  You're  very  anxious,  aren't  you,  Mrs.  Deems?  " 
he  enquired,  in  a  whisper. 

"Well,"  she  answered,  "I  suppose  I  am.  I 
guess  he's  had  a  strain  with  this  trouble.  I  do 
wish  the  doctor'd  come,  though.  It's  a  long  while 
since  they  went  for  him." 

"Don't  you  think  he's  in  danger  now  —  that  he 
might  go  off  at  any  moment?"  asked  Ralston. 

"Well  —  they  do  —  with  heart  failure.  That's 
the  danger.  But  it's  a  strong  family,  Mr.  Ralston, 
and  he's  been  a  strong  man,  old  Mr.  Lauderdale, 
though  he's  as  weak  as  a  babe  now.  You  just 
can't  tell,  in  these  cases,  and  that's  the  fact." 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels.  A  moment  later 
Leek  appeared. 


THE  RALSTONS.  273 

"Doctor  Eouth  can't  be  found,  sir,"  he  said. 
"They've  been  to  his  house  and  to  two  or  three 
other  places,  but  he  can't  be  found,  sir.  So  I've 
sent  for  Doctor  Cheever.  He's  always  on  call,  as 
they  say  in  this  country,  sir." 

"Quite  right,  Leek,"  answered  Ralston. 

He  looked  round  for  Mrs.  Deems,  but  she  had 
gone  back  into  the  drawing-room.  She  was  evi 
dently  very  anxious. 


VOL.    I. —18 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

EGBERT  LAUDERDALE'S  condition  was  precari 
ous,  and  Mrs.  Deems  was  well  aware  of  the  fact 
as  the  minutes  passed  and  neither  of  the  doctors 
who  had  been  sent  for  appeared.  It  was  Doctor 
Routh's  custom  to  come  a  few  minutes  before  din 
ner  time,  as  well  as  in  the  morning,  and  his  visit 
at  that  hour  was  almost  a  certainty.  As  ill-luck 
would  have  it,  Doctor  Cheever  was  also  out  when 
the  carriage  reached  his  house,  having  been  called 
away  a  few  moments  previously.  Urgent  mes 
sages  were  left  for  both,  and  the  brougham  returned 
empty  a  second  time.  So  far  as  the  old  gentleman 
was  concerned,  Mrs.  Deems  knew  well  enough  how 
to  do  what  lay  in  her  power,  and  she  could  do 
nothing  more  than  she  had  done  for  Katharine 
already.  But  she  knew  how  the  least  delay  in  set 
ting  a  broken  bone  increased  the  difficulty  and  the 
pain  when  it  came  to  be  done  at  last,  and  her  anx 
iety  about  Robert  Lauderdale  did  not  prevent  her 
from  feeling  nervous  about  the  young  girl. 

No  one  spoke  in  the  great  drawing-room  where 
the  old  man  and  Katharine  lay  with  closed  eyes 
in  their  chairs,  while  the  nurse  and  Ralston  sat 
274 


THE  R ALSTONS.  275 

watching  them.  But  when  Leek  came  with  the 
news  that  Doctor  Cheever  could  not  be  found, 
either,  Mrs.  Deems  was  roused  almost  to  anger. 

"You've  got  to  get  a  surgeon,  anyway,"  she  said, 
sharply,  to  Ralston.  "If  you  don't,  they'll  have  a 
bad  time  when  it  comes  to  setting  her  arm.  Mr. 
Lauderdale  I  can  manage,  perhaps,  till  the  doctor 
comes,  but  I'm  no  bone-setter." 

Ralston  left  the  room,  took  the  carriage,  and 
went  himself  in  search  of  a  surgeon,  and  returned 
with  one  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  A  few 
minutes  later  Doctor  Routh  appeared,  and  last  of 
all  came  young  Doctor  Cheever.  Then  everything 
was  done  quickly  and  well.  The  three  practition 
ers  understood  one  another  without  words,  and  the 
machinery  of  the  great  house  of  the  old  million 
aire  did  their  bidding. 

But  Doctor  Routh  shook  his  head  when  he  was 
alone  with  John  Ralston  half  an  hour  later. 

"I  don't  like  the  look  of  things,"  he  said.  "Of 
course,  there's  no  telling  about  you  Lauderdales. 
You're  pretty  strong  people  all  round.  I  don't 
want  any  confidences.  I  don't  want  to  know 
what's  happened.  I  can  see  the  results,  and 
they're  enough  for  me.  You're  a  quarrelsome  set, 
but  you'd  better  have  managed  to  fight  somewhere 
else.  I'm  afraid  you've  killed  him  this  time. 
However  —  there's  no  telling." 

"How  about  Miss  Lauderdale?"  asked  John, 
anxiously.  "How  long  will  she  be  laid  up?" 


276  THE  EALSTONS. 

"  Oh  —  three  or  four  weeks.  But  they  must 
keep  her  quiet  for  a  day  or  two,  until  the  inflam 
mation  goes  down.  When  the  bone's  begun  to 
heal  and  the  arm's  immobilized,  she  can  be  about. 
It's  no  use  your  staying  here.  You  can't  see 
either  of  them.  But  if  I  were  you  —  I  don't  say 
anything  positive,  I'm  only  giving  you  a  hint  — 
if  I  were  you,  I'd  be  at  home  this  evening.  If 
things  get  worse,  I'll  send  for  you." 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  yourself?  "  asked  Rals 
ton. 

"Of  course.  Practically,  as  far  as  one  can 
judge,  your  uncle's  dying.  You  may  just  as  well 
be  here  as  any  one  else.  He's  very  fond  of  you, 
in  spite  of  your  little  tiff  last  winter.  You're  the 
only  man  in  the  family  he'd  like  to  see,  and  you 
won't  be  in  the  way." 

It  was  his  manner  of  putting  it.  At  any  other 
time  Ralston  would  have  smiled  at  the  idea  of 
being  i  in  the  way  '  of  death. 

"I  suppose  there's  really  no  hope,"  he  answered, 
gravely.  "But  the  only  person  he'd  really  wish 
to  have  with  him  is  Miss  Lauderdale." 

"Well  —  that's  impossible,  my  dear  boy.  She 
can't  be  running  about  the  house  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  with  her  arm  just  broken.  It  might  be 
dangerous." 

"  You'd  better  not  let  her  know  if  anything  hap 
pens,  then  —  or  she  will." 


THE  RAL8TONS.  277 

John  Kalston  left  the  house  very  reluctantly  at 
last,  and  returned  to  his  home,  feeling  broken  and 
helpless,  as  people  who  have  nervous  organizations 
do  feel  when  they  have  been  under  great  emotion 
and  are  left  in  anxiety.  Naturally  enough,  Kath 
arine's  present  condition  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  and  every  step  which  took  him  further  from 
her  was  an  added  pain.  But  a  multitude  of  other 
considerations  thrust  themselves  upon  him  at  the 
same  time,  and  he  asked  himself  what  was  to 
happen  on  the  morrow. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind,  before  Alexander 
Junior  had  left  the  house,  that  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  put  an  end  to  the  present  situation  at 
once,  and  to  declare  his  marriage  without  delay. 
He  had  never  wished  it  to  be  kept  a  secret,  and  he 
had  now  the  best  of  reasons  for  insisting  that  it 
should  be  made  public.  He  might  have  been  will 
ing  to  believe  that  Katharine's  fall  had  been  an 
accident,  and  that  her  father  had  not  meant  to  hurt 
her,  but  the  fact  remained  that  the  accident  had 
occurred  through  his  brutal  roughness,  with  the 
result  that  John  had  struck  the  elder  man  in  the 
face.  It  was  not  safe  for  Katharine  to  stay  any 
longer  in  her  father's  house. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  seemed  clear  that  Robert 
Lauderdale  was  near  his  end.  It  was  hardly  to  be 
hoped  that  he  could  survive  the  strain  of  his  late 
fit  of  passion,  weakened  as  he  was  and  old.  Even 


278  THE  EALSTONS. 

Doctor  Routh  thought  it  improbable.  What  would 
happen  if  he  died  that  night?  If  Katharine  had 
to  be  moved,  —  she  could  scarcely  stay  in  the  house 
after  the  old  man  was  dead,  —  to  whose  house 
should  she  go?  John  swore,  inwardly,  that  she 
should  not  return  to  her  father's.  And  he 
thought,  too,  of  his  next  meeting  with  the  latter. 
Society  would  be  amazed  and  horrified  to  hear  that 
they  had  actually  come  to  blows.  Society,  espe 
cially  in  our  country,  detests  the  idea  of  personal 
violence.  Its  verdict  is  against  any  use  of  such 
means  to  settle  difficulties.  Society,  therefore, 
must  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  what  had  happened. 
No  one  had  seen  the  blow,  not  even  Katharine, 
who  had  just  fallen  to  the  floor.  She  alone  had 
seen  John  and  her  father  struggling,  for  they  had 
loosed  their  hold  on  seeing  that  she  was  hurt, 
and  the  servants  had  found  them  bending  over 
her.  Consequently,  a  great  part  of  what  had  hap 
pened  would  be  kept  secret.  Robert  Lauderdale 
would  not  speak  of  it,  and  Mrs.  Deems  was  bound 
to  secrecy  by  her  profession.  John  wondered  how 
Alexander  Junior  would  meet  him,  however,  and 
whether  there  was  to  be  any  renewal  of  hostilities. 
Altogether,  when  he  let  himself  into  his  own 
house,  he  was  in  need  of  counsel  and  advice. 
There  was  no  one  but  his  mother  to  whom  he  cared 
to  appeal  for  either.  She  had  known  all  along  of 
his  devotion  to  Katharine  Lauderdale,  though  she 


THE  RALSTON8.  279 

knew  nothing  of  the  secret  marriage.  She  knew 
how  hard  Katharine's  life  was  made  in  the  girl's 
own  home,  by  her  father's  determined  opposition 
to  the  match,  and  John  had  told  her  something  of 
other  matters  —  how  old  Robert  had  confided  to 
Katharine  what  he  meant  to  do  with  his  money, 
and  how  her  father  had  tried  to  force  her  to  betray 
the  confidence.  Ralston  was  puzzled,  too,  by 
Alexander  Junior's  evident  willingness  to  quarrel 
with  his  uncle,  or  at  least  by  his  determination 
to  make  no  concessions  whatever  to  him,  and  won 
dered  whether  his  mother  could  not  suggest  some 
explanation. 

Mrs.  Ralston  was,  in  some  ways,  very  like  her 
son,  and  the  two  understood  one  another  perfectly. 
It  would,  perhaps,  be  more  accurate  to  say  that  she 
had  made  him  like  herself,  not  intentionally,  but 
by  force  of  example,  a  result  very  unusual  in  the 
relations  between  mother  and  son.  She  was  by  no 
means  a  manlike  woman,  but  she  possessed  many 
of  the  qualities  which  make  the  best  men.  She 
was  fearless  and  truthful,  and  she  was  more  than 
that  —  she  had  a  man's  sense  of  honour  from  a 
man's  point  of  view,  and  admitted  to  herself  that 
honour  was  the  only  religion  in  which  she  could 
believe.  Like  Katharine,  she,  the  elder  Katharine 
Lauderdale,  had  been  brought  up  amidst  contradic 
tory  influences,  and  had  then  married  the  Admiral, 
a  brave  officer,  a  man  of  considerable  scientific 


280  THE  EALSTONS. 

attainments,    and   a   determined   agnostic,   of  the 
school  of  thirty  years  ago,  when  many  people  be 
lieved  that  science  was  to  bring  about  a  sort  of 
millennium  within  the  next  few  years.     In  that 
direction    she    went   further   than   her   son.     Her 
sense  of  fairness  had  shown  her  how  unfair  it  would 
be  to  make  an  unbeliever  of  him  before  he  was  old 
enough  to  judge  for  himself,  and  in  this  idea  she 
had  made  him  go  to  church  like  other  boys,  and 
had  persuaded  his  father  not  to  talk  atheism  before 
him.     The   result   had   been  to  produce,  more  or 
less,  the  state  of  mind  typical  in  these  last  years 
of  the  century,  amongst  a  certain  class  of  people 
who  are  collectively  described  as  cultured,  though 
they  cannot  always  be  spoken  of  individually  as 
cultivated.     John   felt  that  he  believed  in  some 
thing,  but  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  that 
something  might  be,  and  did  not  take  the  small 
est  trouble  to  find  out.     In  this  respect  he  differed 
from  Katharine.     Under  very  similar  conditions, 
the  young  girl  vacillated  between  a  set  of  unde- 
finable  but  much  discussed  beliefs,  which  included 
pseudo-Buddhism,     Psychological    Research,     the 
wreck  of  what  was  for  a  few  years  Theosophy,  and 
the   latest   discoveries   in   hypnotism,   taken  alto 
gether  and  kneaded  into  an  amorphous  mass,  on 
the  one  hand,  while,   on  the  other,   she  was  at 
tracted  by  the  rigid  forms  of  actual  Christianity, 
widely  opposed,  but  nearest  in  whole-heartedness, 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  281 

which  are  found  in  the  Presbyterian  and  the 
Roman  Catholic  churches.  But  John's  mother  was 
a  peaceable  agnostic,  who  had  transferred  the  ques 
tions  of  right,  wrong,  and  ultimate  good  before 
the  tribunal  of  honour  which  held  perpetual  session 
in  her  heart. 

She  never  discussed  such  points  if  she  could 
avoid  doing  so,  and  if  drawn  into  discussion  against 
her  will,  she  said  frankly  that  she  wished  she  might 
believe,  but  could  not.  In  dealing  with  the  world, 
her  strength  of  character,  her  directness  and  her 
humanity  stood  her  in  good  stead.  In  her  heart's 
dealings  with  itself,  she  thought  of  Musset's  fam 
ous  lines  —  'If  Heaven  be  void,  then  we  offend  IK/ 
God.  But  if  God  is,  let  God  'be  pitiful!7  And 
she  offended  no  one,  nor  desired  to  offend  any. 
She  had  in  life  the  advantage,  the  only  one,  per 
haps,  which  the  agnostic  has  over  the  believer  — 
the  safety  of  her  own  soul  was  not  in  the  balance 
when  the  humanity  of  others  appealed  to  her  own. 
He  who  believes  that  he  has  a  soul  to  save  can  be 
unselfish  only  with  his  bodily  safety. 

Mrs.  Kalston  was  eminently  a  woman  of  the 
world  in  the  best  sense  of  an  expression  which 
many  think  can  mean  no  good.  She  had  never 
been  beautiful  and  had  never  been  vain,  but  she 
had  much  which  attracts  as  beauty  does,  and  holds 
as  no  beauty  can.  Of  the  Lauderdales  now  living, 
she  was  undeniably  the  most  gifted.  Katharine 


282  THE  EALSTONS. 

might  have  rivalled  her,  had  she  developed  under 
more  favourable  circumstances.  But  with  the 
education  she  had  received,  good  as  it  had  been 
of  its  kind,  it  was  not  probable  that  the  young  girl 
would  grow  up  into  such  a  woman. 

Yet  Mrs.  Ralston  had  no  accomplishments,  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  Her  husband  used 
to  say  that  this  was  one  of  her  chief  attractions  in 
his  eyes  —  he  hated  women  who  played  the  piano, 
and  sang  little  songs,  and  made  little  sketches,  for 
the  small  price  paid  by  cheap  social  admiration, 
and  greedily  accepted  by  the  performer  of  such 
tricks.  There  were  people  who  did  such  things 
well,  and  whose  business  it  was  to  do  them.  Why 
should  any  one  do  them  badly?  Mrs.  Ralston 
never  attempted  anything  of  the  sort. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  was  well  acquainted  with 
a  number  of  modern  languages,  and  knew  enough 
of  the  classics  not  to  talk  about  '  reading  Horace 
in  the  original  Greek,'  which  is  as  much  knowl 
edge  in  that  direction,  perhaps,  as  a  woman  needs, 
and  as  most  men  have  occasion  to  use  in  daily  life. 
She  had  read  very  widely,  and  her  criticism,  if  not 
that  of  pure  reason,  was  that  of  a  clear  judgment. 
She  had  found  out  early  what  most  people  never 
learn  at  all,  that  she  could  widen  her  experience  of 
life  vicariously  by  assimilating  that  of  other  peo 
ple,  in  fact  and  even  in  fiction.  Good  fiction  is 
very  like  reality.  Bad  fiction  is  generally  made 


THE  EALSTONS.  283 

up  of  fragments  of  reality  unskilfully  patched 
together.  She  picked  out  truths  wherever  she 
found  them,  and  set  them  in  their  places  in  the 
body  of  all  truth. 

She  was,  in  a  way,  the  least  American  of  all  the 
Lauderdales.  She  herself  would  have  said,  on 
the  contrary,  from  her  own  point  of  view,  that  she 
was  the  most  really  American  in  the  tribe.  She 
loved  the  country,  she  especially  loved  New  York, 
and  she  loved  her  own  people  better  than  any  other 
with  which  she  was  acquainted.  This  strong 
attachment  to  everything  American  was  in  itself 
contrary  to  the  ideas  of  most  persons  with  whom 
she  was  brought  into  close  relations.  What  calls 
itself  society,  pre-eminently,  and  numbers  itself  by 
hundreds,  and  shuts  itself  off  as  much  as  possible, 
requiring  those  who  would  be  counted  with  it  to 
pass  a  special  examination  in  the  subjects  about 
which  it  happens  to  be  mad  at  the  time  —  Society 
with  a  capital  letter,  in  fact,  is  tired  of  work,  it 
associates  home  with  hard  labour  and  a  bad  climate, 
and  Europe  with  fine  weather,  idleness,  and  amuse 
ment.  i  They  manage  those  things  better  in 
France,'  expresses  New  York  society's  opinion  of 
things  in  general  apart  from  business.  Mrs.  Rals 
ton  differed  from  Society,  and  thought  that  many 
things  were  managed  quite  as  well  in  America. 

"That's  because  you've  been  abroad  so  much, 
my  dear,"  said  her  friends.  "Wait  till  you've 


284  THE   EALSTONS. 

lived  ten  years  at  a  stretch  in  Xew  York.  You'll 
think  just  as  we  do.  You  won't  like  it  half  so 
much.  And  besides  —  think  of  clothes  and  things !  " 
Now  Mrs.  Ralston  did  think  of  'clothes  and 
things.7  She  had  never  been  beautiful,  but  she 
had  in  a  high  degree  the  strength  and  grace  dis 
tinctive  in  many  of  the  Lauderdales.  She  was 
tall,  long-limbed,  slight  as  a  girl,  at  rive  and  forty 
years  of  age,  less  strong  than  Katharine,  perhaps, 
though  that  might  be  doubted,  and  certainly  lighter 
and  much  thinner.  She,  too,  was  dark  —  a  keen, 
strong  face,  like  her  son's,  with  the  same  bright 
brown  eyes,  and  the  same  fine  hair,  though  not 
nearly  so  black,  but  her  face  was  kindlier  than  his, 
and  far  less  sad.  She  had  possessed  the  power 
of  enjoying  things  for  their  own  sake  as  long 
as  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  Katharine's  mother,  who  had 
kept  her  faculty  of  enjoying  the  world  subjec 
tively,  with  little  interest  in  it  for  itself,  but 
with  the  intensely  strong  attachment  of  easily 
satisfied  personal  vanity.  The  difference  was,  that 
the  one  form  of  enjoyment  was  doomed  to  destruc 
tion  with  the  beauty  which  was  its  source,  while 
the  other  increased  with  the  ever  broadening  and 
deepening  humanity  in  which  it  found  its  domi 
nant  interest.  If  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  been  shut 
off  from  the  gay  side  of  social  existence  for  a 
time,  as  Mrs.  Ralston  had  been  in  the  first  years 
of  her  widowhood,  she  would  have  become  sour  and 


THE  E  ALSTONS.  285 

discontented.  Mrs.  Ralston  had  seen  where  the 
real  bitterness  of  life  lay,  and  the  bitterness  had 
appealed  to  her  heart  almost  as  much  as  ever  the 
sweetness  had.  She  had  suffered  in  some  ways 
much,  but  not  long;  she  had  been  disappointed 
more  than  once,  but  had  been  repaid. 

Above  all,  she  was  her  son's  friend.  She  had 
lived  a  woman's  life,  and  in  him  she  was  living 
a  man's  life,  too.  She  had  felt  a  mother's  fears 
for  him,  a  mother's  sympathy  in  his  failures,  in 
his  downheartedness,  in  the  love  for  Katharine 
which  had  met  with  such  bitter  opposition.  She 
had  almost  known  a  mother's  despair  in  believing 
him  lost  and  truly  worthless,  and  when  she  had 
found  out  her  mistake,  a  mother's  triumph  had 
made  her  heart  beat  fast.  And  little  by  little 
through  the  last  months  she  had  seen  the  man's 
real  character  coming  to  the  surface  in  its  strength 
and  boldness,  outgrowing  the  boyish  weakness,  the 
youthful  faults  that  were  not  vices  yet  and  never 
would  be  now,  and  it  was  as  though  the  growth 
had  been  in  her  own  /heart,  giving  to  herself  new 
interest,  new  life,  and  new  vitality. 

And  John  Ralston  had  forgotten  that  one  hour 
in  which  she  had  doubted  him,  though  at  the  time 
he  had  found  it  hard  to  say  that  he  ever  should. 
She  was  his  best  friend  and  was  becoming  his 
closest  companion.  Even  Katharine  could  not 
understand  him  so  well,  for  she  knew  too  little 


286  THE  RALSTONS. 

of  the  world  yet.  She  had  given  him  her  heart, 
and  her  sympathy  was  all  his,  but  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other  was  yet  quite  grown. 

John  and  his  mother  dined  alone  together  that 
evening,  and  afterwards  went  upstairs  and  sat  in 
a  room  which  was  called  John's  study,  by  courtesy, 
as  it  had  been  called  the  Admiral's  study  when  his 
father  was  alive.  It  was  a  quiet,  manlike  room, 
with  a  small  bookcase  and  a  large  gun-rack,  huge 
chairs  covered  with  brown  leather,  an  unnecessarily 
large  writing-table,  a  certain  number  of  trophies 
of  the  chase,  a  well-worn  carpet  and  curtains  that 
smelled  of  cigars.  Mrs.  Ralston  had  been  accus 
tomed  all  her  life  to  the  smell  of  tobacco,  and 
rather  liked  it  than  otherwise.  She  settled  her 
graceful  figure  comfortably  in  one  of  the  chairs, 
and  Ralston  sat  down  opposite  to  her  in  another 
and  began  to  smoke. 

"There's  been  a  row,  mother,"  he  began.  "I 
couldn't  tell  you  before  the  servants,  but  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  all  about  it  now.  I  want  your  advice 
and  your  help  —  all  sorts  of  things  of  you.  I'm 
rather  worried." 

"  Do  you  think  I  couldn't  see  that  in  your  face, 
Jack?"  asked  Mrs.  Ralston,  smiling  as  she  met 
his  eyes.  "There's  a  certain  line  in  your  forehead 
that  always  comes  when  there's  trouble.  What  is 
it,  boy?" 

John  told  his  story  briefly  and  accurately,  with- 


THE  RALSTONS.  287 

out  superfluous  comment,  and  as  much  of  what  had 
happened  in  Katharine's  life  as  she  had  confided 
to  him.  He  made  it  clear  enough  that  she  was 
being  tormented  to  give  up  Robert  Lauderdale's 
secret,  and  if  he  dwelt  unduly  upon  any  point,  it 
was  upon  this.  Mrs.  Ralston  listened  attentively. 
When  he  came  to  the  scene  which  had  taken  place 
on  that  afternoon,  she  leaned  forward  in  her  chair, 
breathless  with  interest. 

"  Oh,  Jack !  "  she  cried.  "  You  always  seem  to 
be  fighting  somebody !  " 

"Yes  —  but  wasn't  I  right,  mother?"  he  asked, 
quickly.  "What  could  I  do?  He  acted  like  a 
madman,  and  he  dragged  Katharine  from  me  and 
whirled  her  off  upon  the  floor  as  though  he'd  been 
handling  a  man  in  a  free  fight.  I  couldn't  stand 
that." 

"No  —  of  course  you  couldn't,"  answered  Mrs. 
Ralston.  "I  don't  see  what  you  could  have  done 
but  hit  him,  I'm  sure.  And  yet  it's  a  shocking 
affair  —  it  is,  really.  I'm  afraid  it's  cost  uncle 
Robert  his  life,  poor,  dear  old  man!  " 

"Poor  man!"  echoed  Ralston,  thoughtfully. 
"  Routh  didn't  seem  to  think  he  could  live  through 
the  night.  We  may  get  word  at  any  moment." 

"The  wonder  is  that  he  didn't  die  then  and 
there.  And  there's  no  one  with  him,  either  — 
Katharine  laid  up  in  her  room  —  why  didn't  you 
stay  in  the  house,  Jack?  " 


288  THE  RALSTONS. 

"Routh  wouldn't  let  me.  He's  there.  He  told 
me  I  should  only  be  in  the  way  and  that  he'd 
send  for  me,  if  anything  happened.  It's  an  odd 
thing,  mother  —  but  there's  no  one  to  go  to  uncle 
Robert  but  you  and  I  and  cousin  Emma.  He'd 
have  a  fit  if  he  saw  cousin  Alexander.  And  of 
course  the  old  gentleman  can't  go."  He  meant 
Robert's  brother. 

"No  —  of  course  not." 

A  short  silence  followed,  and  Mrs.  Ralston 
seemed  to  be  thinking  over  the  situation. 

"Well,  Jack,"  she  said,  at  last,  "what  are  we 
going  to  do?  This  state  of  things  can't  go  on." 

"No.  It  can't.  It  shan't.  And  I  won't  let  it. 
Mother  —  you  know  we.  talked  last  winter  —  you 
said  that  if  ever  I  wanted  to  marry  Katharine  — 
wanted  to !  Well  —  that  we  could  manage  to  live 
here  —  " 

It  would  be  hard  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  reluctance  with  which  John  approached  the  sub 
ject.  Short  of  the  consideration  of  Katharine's  per 
sonal  safety,  which  he  believed  to  be  endangered  by 
the  life  she  was  made  to  lead,  nothing  could  have 
induced  him  to  think  of  laying  the  burden  of  his 
married  life  upon  his  mother's  comparatively 
slender  fortune.  Although  half  of  it  was  his,  for 
she  had  made  it  over  to  him  by  a  deed  during  the 
previous  winter,  out  of  a  conviction  that  he  should 
feel  himself  to  be  independent,  yet  he  had  never 


THE  EALSTONS.  289 

quite  accepted  the  position,  and  still  regarded  all 
there  was  as  being,  morally  speaking,  her  property. 
But  now  she  met  him  more  than  half  way. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  almost  authoritatively,  "if 
Katharine  will  marry  you,  marry  her  to-morrow 
and  bring  her  here." 

"Thank  you,  mother,"  he  answered,  and  was 
silent  for  a  moment. 

"We  can  live  perfectly  well  —  just  as  well  as 
we  do  now.  One  person  more  —  what  difference 
does  it  make?" 

"It  would  make  a  difference  —  more  than  you 
think,"  answered  John.  "But  there's  another 
thing  about  it,  mother  —  there's  a  secret  I've  kept 
from  you  for  a  long  time.  I  must  tell  you  now. 
You  must  be  the  first  to  know  it.  But  I  want  to 
ask  you  first  not  to  judge  what  I've  done  until 
I've  told  you  all  about  it." 

"Is  it  anything  bad,  Jack?"  asked  Mrs-1.  Ualston, 
with  quick  anxiety,  bending  far  forward  in  her 
chair,  while  all  her  expression  changed. 

"No,  mother  —  don't  be  frightened.  It's  this. 
Katharine  and  I  were  married  last  winter." 

"  Married ! "  cried  Mrs.  Ralston,  in  amazement. 
"Married!"  she  repeated  in  a  tone  which  showed 
that  she  was  deeply  hurt.  "And  you  did  not 
tell  me!" 

She  said  nothing  more  for  a  few  moments,  and 
John  was  silent,  too,  giving  her  time  to  recover 

VOL.    I. 19 


290  THE  RALSTONS. 

from    her    astonishment.       She   was   the   first   to 


"Either  Katharine  made  you  marry  her,  or  you 
must  have  had  some  very  good  reason  for  doing 
such  a  thing,  Jack,"  she  said.  "It's  not  like  you 
to  get  married  secretly.  When  was  it?" 

"It  was  on  that  day  when  I  was  so  unlucky. 
When  I  lost  my  way,  and  everybody  thought  I'd 
been  drinking." 

"  Jack !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  had  that 
on  your  mind,  too?  Oh,  Jack  dear,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me?" 

"In  the  first  place,  I'd  said  I  wouldn't.  The 
reasons  seemed  good  then.  They  haven't  seemed 
so  good  since.  I'll  tell  you  the  idea  in  two  words. 
We  were  to  be  privately  married.  Then  we  were 
to  confide  in  uncle  Robert,  expecting  that  he  would 
find  me  something  to  do,  that  I  could  do  what 
ever  he  proposed  well  enough  to  earn  a  living 
without  accepting  money  as  a  gift.  There  was 
where  the  disappointment  came.  I  found  out 
afterwards  how  true  what  he  said  was.  Every 
body's  on  the  lookout  for  a  congenial  occupa 
tion  that  means  living  out  of  doors  and  enjoying 
oneself.  He  said  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  go  back  to  Beman's  and  work  at  a  desk 
for  a  year.  Then  he'd  push  me  on.  He  tried  to 
make  me  take  a  lot  of  money,  but  I  wouldn't.  I'm 
glad  of  that,  anyhow.  So  we've  never  said  any- 


THE  RALSTONS.  291 

thing  about  it,  except  to  him.  But  now  something 
must  be  done." 

"  But  you  could  have  brought  her  here  any  time 
in  these  four  months  —  at  least,  you  might  have 
told  me  and  I  would  have  helped  you." 

"  I  know  —  but  then,  it  would  have  been  a  burden 
on  you,  as  it's  going  to  be  now."  . 

"A  burden!     Don't  say  such  things." 

"  Only  that  now  —  well  —  I  don't  like  to  say  it, 
but  dear  old  uncle  Robert  isn't  going  to  live  long, 
and  then  you'll  be  rich,  compared  to  what  you  are 
now,  even  if  he  only  leaves  you  what  he'd  think  a 
small  legacy." 

"Yes  —  that's  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Ralston, 
thoughtfully.  "Isn't  life  strange,  Jack?"  she 
continued,  after  a  short  pause.  "  We're  both  very 
fond  of  him.  We  shall  miss  him  very  much  more 
than  we  realize.  I  think  either  you  or  I  would 
do  anything  we  could,  and  risk  anything,  to  save 
his  life  —  and  yet  we  can't  help  counting  on  the 
money  he's  sure  to  leave  us  when  he  dies.  I 
suppose  most  people  would  call  it  heartless  to 
speak  about  it,  though  they'd  think  about  it  from 
morning  till  night.  But  I  don't  think  we're 
heartless,  do  you?  " 

"No,"  answered  John,  "I  don't.  Not  that  it 
would  be  a  crime  if  we  were.  People  are  born 
so,  or  they  aren't.  We  can't  all  be  rough  plastered 
with  goodness  and  stuccoed  with  virtue  on  top  of 


292  THE  E ALSTONS. 

it.  We're  natural,  that's  all  —  and  the  majority 
of  people  aren't.  I  don't  wish  uncle  Robert  to 
die,  any  more  than  you  do,  or  than  any  one  does, 
except  cousin  Alexander.  It's  only  reasonable  for 
us  who  are  young  to  think  of  what  we  may  do 
when  he's  gone,  since  he's  so  old." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Ralston. 
"So  you've  been  married  all  these  months!  It 
hurts  me  a  little  to  think  that  you  shouldn't  have 
told  me.  I'd  have  helped  you.  I'm  sure  I  could 
have  made  it  easier.  But  I  see  —  you  were  afraid 
that  I  should  have  to  go  without  my  toilet  water 
and  have  to  wear  ready  made  gloves,  or  some  such 
ridiculous  thing  as  that!  Married!  Well  —  I'm 
not  exactly  sentimental,  but  I'd  rather  looked  for 
ward  to  your  wedding  with  Katharine.  I  always 
knew  you'd  marry  her  in  the  end,  and  I  liked  to 
think  of  it.  I'm  glad,  though  —  I'm  glad  it's  done 
and  can't  be  undone,  in  spite  of  her  father.  Tell 
me  all  about  it,  since  you've  told  me  everything 
else." 

It  was  not  a  long  story  —  how  Katharine  had 
persuaded  him,  much  against  his  will,  how  lie  had 
found  a  clergyman  willing  to  perform  the  cere 
mony,  and  how  Katharine  and  he  had  gone  to  the 
church  early  in  the  morning. 

"And  now  she  is  Katharine  Ralston,  too,  like 
me  —  and  I've  got  a  daughter-in-law!"  Mrs. 
Ralston  smiled  dreamily. 


THE   RALSTONS.  293 

After  the  first  moment  of  surprise  and  after  the 
first  sharp  pain  she  had  felt  for  her  son's  want  of 
confidence  in  her,  as  she  regarded  his  secrecy,  the 
news  did  not  seem  to  disturb  her  much.  For  years 
she  had  been  convinced  that  Katharine  was  destined 
to  be  her  son's  wife,  and  for  many  months  she  had 
felt  sure  that,  with  his  nature,  his  happiness  and 
success  in  life  depended  entirely  upon  his  marrying 
her.  She  was  heartily  glad  that  it  had  come, 
though,  as  she  said,  she  had  often  looked  forward 
to  the  wedding  as  to  something  very  bright  in 
her  own  existence. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "leave  it  to  me  to  set  matters 
straight  with  the  rest  of  the  family,  will  you?" 

"Why  —  mother  —  if  you  think  you  can  —  of 
course,"  answered  Ralston,  with  some  hesitation. 
"The  difficulty  will  be  with  cousin  Alexander. 
We're  enemies  for  life,  now." 

"Yes.  Until  to-day  you  were  only  enemies  by 
circumstance.  You'll  never  be  reconciled,  now  — 
not  completely.  You  could  never  spend  a  night 
under  his  roof  after  what  has  happened,  could  you? 
Of  course  you  can  say  to  him  that  you  acted  under 
the  impression  that  he  was  —  Avell  —  what  shall  I 
say?  —  that  he  was  treating  Katharine  brutally, 
but  that  if  he  wasn't,  you  apologize  for  striking 
him.  But  after  all,  that's  only  quibbling  with 
honour.  It  wouldn't  satisfy  him  and  wouldn't  be 
very  dignified  for  you,  it  seems  to  me.  And  he's 


294  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

not  the  man  who  would  ever  put  out  his  hand  and 
forgive  you  frankly  and  say  that  by-gones  should 
be  by-gones." 

"  Scarcely !  "  assented  Ralston.  "  Not  at  all  that 
kind  of  man.  By  the  bye,  mother,  —  forgive  me 
for  going  off  to  something  else,  —  what  do  you 
think  is  the  reason  why  he  seems  so  ready  to 
offend  uncle  Robert,  instead  of  bowing  down  to 
him,  as  they  all  do?  He  wants  the  money  more 
than  any  one.  He  can't  suppose  that  if  uncle 
Robert  were  to  make  a  new  will  now,  after  what 
has  happened,  he'd  leave  him  anything.  You 
should  have  heard  the  old  gentleman  swear  at  him, 
and  turn  him  out  of  the  house !  " 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Ralston, 
thoughtfully,  "unless  he  wants  to  irritate  uncle 
Robert,  and  drive  him  into  making  some  extraor 
dinary  will  that  wouldn't  hold.  Then  he'd  get  it 
broken.  You  see,  Jack,  my  uncle  Alexander, 
who's  uncle  Robert's  own  brother,  and  I,  who  am 
the  only  child  of  uncle  Robert's  other  brother,  are 
the  next  of  kin.  If  there  were  no  will,  or  if  the 
will  were  broken,  we  two  should  get  the  whole 
fortune,  equally  divided,  half  and  half,  and  none 
of  the  rest  would  get  anything.  Mr.  Brett  told  me 
that  a  long  time  ago.  As  it  is,  we  don't  know  how 
the  money's  left,  though  uncle  Robert  has  often 
told  me  that  T  should  have  a  big  share." 

"Katharine  knows,"  said  John.  "That's  the 
reason  her  father  leaves  her  no  peace." 


THE  EALSTONS.  295 

"And  she's  not  told  you,  Jack?" 

"Mother!  Do  you  suppose  Katharine  would  be 
tray  a  confidence  like  that?  You  don't  know  her!  " 

"No,  dear.  I  didn't  seriously  think  she  would. 
But  then  —  she's  your  wife,  Jack.  She  might  tell 
you  what  she  wouldn't  tell  any  one  else,  and  yet 
not  think  that  she  were  giving  away  a  secret.  Most 
women  would,  I  think." 

"Katharine's  not  like  most  women,"  said  Rals 
ton,  gravely. 

A  silence  followed,  during  which  his  mother 
watched  his  face,  and  her  own  grew  beautiful  with 
mother's  pride  in  man,  and  woman's  gladness  for 
woman's  dignity. 

When  Ralston  and  his  mother  separated,  they 
had  come  to  a  clear  understanding  about  the  future. 
They  had  decided  to  say  nothing  about  the  mar 
riage  until  Katharine  had  recovered  sufficiently  to 
leave  Robert  Lauderdale's  home,  and  then  to  estab 
lish  her  in  their  house,  and  tell  the  world  that 
there  had  been  a  private  wedding.  If  the  old  gen 
tleman  died,  —  and  they  were  obliged  to  take  this 
probability  into  consideration,  —  Katharine  would 
have  to  be  brought  at  once.  If  anything,  this 
would  make  matters  simpler.  The  household 
would  be  in  mourning,  Katharine  would  be  unable 
to  go  out  or  to  appear  at  all  for  some  time,  and 
society  would  easily  believe  that  during  the  two  or 
three  weeks  which  must  pass  in  this  way,  the  mar 
riage  might  have  taken  place. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

No  one  slept  much  during  the  early  part  of  the 
night  in  the  millionaire's  home.  Katharine  lay 
long  awake,  prevented  from  sleeping  partly  by  the 
painful  numbness  in  her  bandaged  arm,  and  partly 
by  the  ever  recurring  picture  of  the  day's  doings 
which  came  back  to  her  unceasingly  in  the  still 
ness.  Just  as  the  picture  was  growing  shadowy 
and  dreamlike,  some  slight  sound  would  break  it 
and  recall  her  to  herself, —  a  distant  foot-fall  on 
the  stairs,  the  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door  near 
her  own,  or  even  the  occasional  roll  of  a  belated 
carriage  in  the  street. 

There  was  a  soft  light  in  the  sick  man's  room. 
The  white  walls  and  hangings  took  up  and  distrib 
uted  the  whiteness,  so  that  even  the  remotest  cor 
ners  were  not  dark.  Robert  Lauderdale  lay  in  his 
bed,  breathing  softly,  his  eyes  not  quite  closed,  and 
his  bony  hands  lying  like  knotty  twigs  upon  the 
white  Shetland  wool  that  covered  his  body.  For 
they  were  like  wood  or  stone,  yellowish  in  colour, 
rough  in  shape,  and  yet  oddly  polished  by  time, 
as  some  old  men's  hands  are.  His  snowy  beard 
and  hair,  too,  were  almost  sandy  again,  as  they 
296 


THE  RALSTONS.  297 

had  been  in  youth,  by  contrast  with  the  delicate 
linen  and  the  snow-white,  sheeny  material  that  was 
everywhere. 

He  was  not  sleeping  with  his  eyes  open,  as  dying 
persons  sometimes  sleep  a  whole  day.  Nor  was 
his  mind  wandering.  Doctor  Routh  could  see  that 
well  enough,  as  he  sat  there  hour  after  hour, 
watching  his  old  friend.  The  doctor  wished  that 
he  might  really  fall  asleep,  and  let  his  weary  old 
heart  gather  strength  to  live  a  little  longer.  But 
even  Routh  was  giving  up  hope.  The  machine 
was  running  down,  and  the  game  was  played  out. 
There  was  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  Robert 
Lauderdale  could  live  another  twelve  hours.  From 
time  to  time  the  doctor  gave  him  a  little  stimu 
lant,  but  the  failing  heart  reacted  less  and  less. 

Between  three  and  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  old  man  turned  his  head  slowly  on  the  pillow, 
and  his  sunken  eyes  met  Routh's  in  a  long  look  — 
the  look  which  those  who  have  watched  by  the 
dying  know  very  well. 

"Routh,"  said  the  hoarse  voice,  with  solemn 
slowness,  "I'm  going  to  give  up  the  ghost." 

Still  for  a  few  seconds  the  deep,  mysterious, 
wondering  look  continued  in  the  hollow  eyes. 
Then  he  turned  his  head  slowly  back  to  the  origi 
nal  position.  The  words  struck  the  doctor  as  singu 
lar.  He  did  not  remember  that  he  had  ever  heard 
a  patient  use  just  that  phrase,  though  so  many 


298  THE  EALSTONS. 

persons  when  near  the  point  of  death  give  warn 
ing  of  their  end  in  some  such  expression. 

"You're  not  going  yet,"  the  doctor  answered, 
mechanically,  and  he  held  a  glass  to  the  old  man's 
lips. 

"I  don't  want  any  false  hope.  I  know  it's 
coming,"  answered  the  dying  man,  speaking 
against  the  rim  of  the  little  tumbler. 

Routh  stood  up  to  his  vast  height,  and  then  his 
nervous,  emaciated  frame  bent  like  a  birch  sapling 
in  a  gale  as  he  leaned  over  the  bed,  and  listened  to 
the  fluttering  beats  of  the  heart  that  had  almost 
done  its  work. 

"Shall  I  call  anybody?"  he  asked.  "Is  there 
anything  you  want  done?  " 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  be?"  asked 
Robert  Lauderdale,  trying  to  speak  more  rapidly. 

"Half  an  hour,  perhaps,"  answered  Routh. 

In  their  voices  there  was  that  indescribable  tone 
with  which  the  words  of  brave  men  are  uttered  in 
the  face  of  death.  No  one  who  has  ever  heard  it 
can  forget  it. 

"I'd  like  to  say  good-bye  to  Katharine."  He 
paused  and  drew  breath  heavily.  "Will  it  hurt 
her? "  he  asked,  presently. 

"No,"  answered  the  doctor,  seeing  the  look  of 
anxiety  which  accompanied  the  question. 

A  broken  arm  seemed  a  very  slight  matter  to 
Routh,  compared  with  the  wish  of  his  old  friend. 


THE  RALSTONS.  299 

He  did  not  hesitate,  but  touched  the  bell  for  Mrs. 
Deems,  who  appeared  at  the  door. 

"He  wishes  to  see  Miss  Lauderdale,"  he  whis 
pered.  "You  must  help  her  to  wrap  herself  up, 
and  bring  her  here." 

Mrs.  Deems  nodded,  and  looked  at  the  doctor 
with  the  grave  glance  of  enquiry  which  means  the 
one  question,  'Life  or  death?7  And  Routh  an 
swered  with  the  other  glance,  which  means 
' Death.'  Mrs.  Deems  nodded  again,  and  left  the 
room.  Routh  returned  to  the  bedside. 

"When  she  comes  —  leave  us  alone  —  please," 
said  the  sick  man. 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  few  minutes. 
Again  the  lids  were  half  closed,  and  the  old  eyes 
stared  out  beneath  them  into  the  soft  whiteness, 
and  perhaps  beyond.  But  the  beard  moved  a  little 
from  time  to  time,  as  though  the  lips  were  fram 
ing  words,  and  Routh  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

Then  Katharine  came,  waxen  pale,  her  raven 
hair  coiled  loosely  upon  her  shapely  head,  her 
creamy  throat  collarless,  her  left  arm  and  hand 
free,  the  rest  of  her  wrapped  and  draped  in  soft, 
dark  things.  She,  too,  looked  up  into  Routh's  face 
with  the  glance  of  the  question,  'Life  or  death?' 
And  again  the  answer  was,  '  Death. ' 

But  Mrs.  Deems  had  told  her.  Her  eyes  said 
that  she  knew,  and  her  face  told  that  she  felt. 
Robert  Lauderdale's  great  head  turned  again, 


300  THE  EALSTONS. 

slowly  and  painfully,  towards  her.  She  bent  down 
to  him,  and  the  doctor  left  the  room,  taking  the 
nurse  with  him.  He  did  not  quite  close  the  door. 
He  could  almost  hear,  beforehand,  the  low  cry  the 
young  girl  would  utter  when  the  end  came. 

Katharine  bent  down  and  laid  her  hand  softly 
upon  the  old  man's  brow. 

"Uncle  dear  —  you're  not  going,"  she  said. 
"You'll  get  well,  after  all." 

"I'm  going  to  give  up  the  ghost,"  he  said,  as  he 
had  said  to  Doctor  Kouth. 

"  No  —  no  —  "  But  she  could  not  find  anything 
to  say,  so  she  smoothed  his  forehead. 

She  had  never  seen  any  one  die,  but  she  was  not 
afraid.  That  is  a  matter  of  temperament,  and 
neither  man  nor  woman  should  be  blamed  who  can 
not  bear  to  feel  a  soul  parting  and  see  a  body  left 
behind.  Katharine  felt  only  that  she  would  keep 
him  if  she  could.  She  knelt  down  and  took  one 
of  his  hands,  his  left.  It  was  cold  and  hard  to 
touch,  with  little  warmth  in  it,  like  that  of  a 
statue  in  a  garden  when  the  sun  has  gone  down. 

"I  want  to  say  good-bye,"  said  the  hoarse  voice, 
just  above  a  whisper. 

"Yes  —  I'm  here,"  answered  Katharine,  and 
there  was  silence  again,  while  she  gently  caressed 
the  cold  hand. 

"Routh  said  half  an  hour." 

The  mysterious,  dying  eyes  wandered   a  little, 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  301 

and  then  sought  the  white  clock  on  the  mantel 
piece. 

"Can't  see  —  what  time  it  is,"  said  the  rough 
whisper. 

"Twenty  minutes  to  four,"  answered  Katharine, 
glancing  round  quickly,  and  then  looking  again  at 
his  face. 

"Poor  child  —  little  girl  —  ought  to  be  in  bed." 
The  words  came  indistinctly,  and  the  breathing 
grew  more  heavy. 

Then  the  beard  moved  with  unspoken  words, 
and  Katharine  watched,  hearing  nothing.  She  had 
been  a  little  confused  at  first,  but  now  she  recol 
lected  that  she  should  ask  if  there  were  anything 
she  could  do.  She  could  not  tell  whence  the  recol 
lection  came.  She  had  perhaps  got  it  from  a  book 
read  long  ago.  He  might  want  something.  He 
might  die  unsatisfied.  She  made  anxious  haste  to 
ask  the  question. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?  Any  one  else  you 
want,  uncle?"  she  enquired,  speaking  close  to  his 
ear. 

The  breathing,  almost  stertorous  now,  ceased  for 
an  instant.  He  seemed  to  be  trying  to  collect 
strength  to  say  something. 

"Your  father  —  tell  him  from  me  —  bear  no 
malice  —  "  He  could  get  no  further. 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  don't  think  about  it  —  don't  dis 
tress  yourself,"  said  Katharine,  quickly.  "  I'll  tell 
him." 


302  THE  RALSTONS. 

Again  the  heavy  breathing  blew  the  stiff  white 
hairs  of  his  beard  and  moustache,  as  his  chin,  raised 
in  the  effort  of  speaking,  fell  suddenly  to  his 
breast  again.  The  breath  raised  the  coarse  white 
and  sandy  hairs  and  blew  them  to  right  and  left. 
The  eyelids  drooped.  Katharine  wondered  whether 
old  men  always  died  like  that.  Then  the  thought 
that  he  was  really  dying  put  on  its  reality  for  the 
first  time,  and  struck  her  suddenly  in  the  heart, 
and  the  pain  she  felt  struck  back  instantly  into 
her  helpless,  bandaged  arm. 

"Is  it  God?"  asked  the  dying  man,  suddenly, 
in  a  louder  voice  and  quite  clearly. 

Again,  in  the  effort,  his  chin  rose  and  fell. 
There  was  something  awful  in  the  question,  asked 
with  the  strength  of  the  death  struggle.  Then 
came  more  words,  indistinct  and  broken. 

"I  shall  be  —  a  little  boy  again."  So  much 
Katharine  understood  of  what  she  heard. 

Her  tears  gathered.  Some  of  them  fell  upon 
the  yellow,  branch-like  hand.  Then  she  bent  close 
to  his  ear  again. 

" There  is  God,"  she  said.  "  God  will  take  you, 
dear  —  He  is  taking  you  now.  Think  of  Him. 
You're  dying." 

Her  tears  broke  her  voice,  as  raindrops  break 
the  sighing  of  the  breeze  in  summer.  She  wept, 
though  she  would  not,  and  her  pale  face  was  wet. 
And  his  heavy  breath  filled  her  ears  till  it  seemed 


THE  EALSTONS.  303 

to  roar  like  a  furnace  —  the  furnace  of  life  burn 
ing  itself  out,  where  all  was  still  and  white. 
She  said  prayers  that  took  meaning  in  her  heart 
and  lost  it  as  they  passed  her  lips,  meeting  the 
great  doubt  on  the  threshold  of  her  soul.  She  did 
not  know  what  she  said.  It  was  not  much,  nor 
eloquent. 

"  I  believe  —  God  —  "  Then  a  great  sigh  blew 
the  white  hairs  to  right  and  left. 

The  breathing  grew  more  slow,  longer,  harder, 
a  great  breathing  of  sighs.  Death  had  life  by  the 
throat.  In  awe,  the  girl  looked  into  the  ancient 
face,  and  the  stream  of  tears  trickled  and  ran  dry. 
Once  more  the  voice  burst  out,  articulate  but 
rattling. 

"  Domine  —  quo  — vadis?  " 

The  great  head  was  raised,  and  the  mysterious 
eyes  were  wide,  gazing  at  her,  waiting  upon  the 
answer,  waiting  to  die.  She  remembered  the 
answer. 

"Tenditadastra." 

He  heard  it,  and  died. 

Katharine  had  never  seen  death,  but  she  knew 
him,  as  we  all  know  him.  Twice,  thrice,  the 
broad  chest  heaved  under  the  soft,  feathery  woollen, 
and  the  after-breath  of  the  storm  quivered  in  the 
frost  of  his  beard.  But  the  girl  knew  he  was 
dead.  Then  came  her  low,  trembling  cry,  the  echo 
of  death's  voice  from  living  heartstrings. 


304  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

It  was  not  a  great  sorrow,  though  Katharine 
had  been  very  fond  of  the  old  man  and  was  very 
grateful  to  him,  as  well  she  might  be.  She  was, 
perhaps,  as  closely  attached  to  him  as  is  possible 
in  such  a  relationship  between  the  very  young 
and  the  very  old.  But  although  her  tears  flowed 
plentifully,  it  was  not  one  of  those  deep-gripped 
wrenches  that  twist  the  heart  and  leave  it  shape 
less  and  bruised  for  a  time  —  or  forever.  Hearts, 
too,  are  less  often  broken  by  those  who  go  than  by 
those  who  stay  with  us.  The  young  girl's  grief 
was  sincere,  and  hurt  her,  but  it  was  not  profound. 
They  led  her  away,  and  when  the  door  of  her  own 
room  closed  behind  her,  the  tears  were  already 
drying  on  her  cheeks. 

Death  brings  confusion  and  leaves  it  in  his  path. 
Many  hours  passed  before  there  was  quiet  in  the 
great  house,  but  Katharine  slept,  exhausted  at  last 
by  all  she  had  endured  that  day,  beyond  the  possi 
bility  of  being  kept  awake  by  mere  bodily  pain. 
Late  in  the  morning  her  mother  came  to  her  bed 
side.  Katharine  had  been  awake  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  had  been  hesitating  as  to  whether  she 
should  ring  or  not.  Her  arm  hurt  her,  and  the 
hand  that  had  been  so  white  was  purple  against  the 
tight  white  bandages.  She  longed  to  tear  them  off 
and  have  rest,  if  only  for  a  moment. 

"Poor  uncle  Robert!  "  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  seat 
ing  herself,  after  kissing  the  young  girPs  forehead. 


THE  RAL8TONS.  305 

She  was  a  little  pale  with  natural  excitement, 
and  she  was  certainly  not  looking  her  best  in  a 
black  frock  which  was  far  from  new,  but  which 
had  to  do  duty  until  she  could  have  mourning 
made.  Katharine  said  nothing  in  answer,  but 
nodded  her  head  on  the  pillow.  She  wondered 
whether  her  mother  knew  that  she  had  broken  her 
arm.  But  in  this  she  did  her  an  injustice. 

"Was  your  wrist  much  hurt?"  asked  Mrs. 
Lauderdale,  almost  immediately. 

Then  she  caught  sight  of  the  splints  and  ban 
dages  and  the  purple  fingers,  as  Katharine  lifted 
the  coverlet  a  little.  Instantly  her  face  changed. 

"  Heavens,  child !  What  have  you  done  to  your 
self?  "  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet  and  bending 
over  to  look. 

"Papa  broke  my  arm/5  answered  Katharine, 
quietly. 

"Your  father  —  broke  your  arm?"  Mrs.  Lau 
derdale  spoke  with  the  utmost  astonishment,  min 
gled  with  unbelief. 

"Why,  yes.  Didn't  you  know?  It  was  last 
night  —  that  —  all  the  confusion  and  trouble  have 
killed  poor  uncle  Robert.  Didn't  papa  tell  you 
anything?"  Katharine  stared  at  her  mother. 

"  He  came  home  and  said  he  had  hurt  his  mouth. 

I  could  not  get  him  to  say  what  liad  happened  to 

him.     To   tell   the   truth,  I   was   rather   worried. 

It's  so  unlike  him  to  hurt  himself,  or  have  any 

VOL.  i. — 20 


306  THE  RALSTONS. 

accident.  He  said  it  was  a  ridiculous  affair,  and 
that  he  didn't  choose  to  be  laughed  at,  and  begged 
me  to  say  nothing  more  about  it.  You  know  how 
he  is.  But  he  never  mentioned  you." 

Katharine  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  She 
wondered  how  wise  it  might  turn  to  be  to  tell  her 
mother  all  that  had  happened.  But  the  instinct  of 
child  to  mother  overcame  hesitation.  Her  mother 
had  begun  to  take  her  part  again,  and  the  broken 
sympathy  was  being  restored  by  bits  and  pieces,  as 
it  were. 

"  There  was  a  terrible  scene  yesterday  afternoon 
—  late,"  said  Katharine.  "He  came  here,  and 
Jack  was  with  me  in  the  library. " 

"Jack!  Oh,  Katharine!  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
see  him  in  this  way  —  " 

"It's  no  use  wishing,  mother,"  answered  the 
young  girl.  "I  made  up  my  mind  long  ago. 
Well,  Jack  was  with  me  in  the  library,  when  Leek 
came  in  and  said  that  papa  was  here.  I  saw  him 
in  the  drawing-room,  so  that  they  shouldn't  meet. 
I  forget  all  he  said.  The  usual  thing,  about  be 
ing  disobedient  and  undutiful.  He  Was  awfully 
angry  because  I  got  out  yesterday  morning.  So  I 
just  went  over  one  or  two  of  the  things  he  had 
done  to  hurt  me.  By  the  bye  —  I  ought  to  say, 
that  just  before  he  came  Jack  had  been  telling  me 
that  some  one  had  been  to  Mr.  Beman,  and  had 
said  that  Jack  drank,  and  was  dissipated,  and  was 


THE  EALSTONS.  307 

altogether  rather  a  good-for-nothing.  And  Mr. 
Beman  had  seen  Jack  the  next  day,  doing  noth 
ing,  because  he  had  nothing  to  do  just  then,  and 
with  his  head  in  his  hand.  So  Mr.  Beman  took  it 
into  his  foolish  old  head  that  Jack  had  been  drink 
ing,  and  told  him  to  go  at  the  end  of  the  month. 
Now  I  knew  it  must  be  papa  who  had  spoken,  so  I 
accused  him  of  it,  and  he  admitted  that  it  was  true, 
and  began  abusing  Jack  like  a  pick-pocket,  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs.  Jack  heard  what  he  said,  for  the 
door  was  open,  and  I  don't  blame  him  for  coming 
in.  They  threatened  each  other,  and  got  so  angry, 
and  I  thought  they'd  kill  each  other,  so,  like  a  silly 
idiot  as  I  was,  I  threw  my  arms  round  Jack's  neck 
as  though  I  meant  to  protect  him.  Papa's  so  much 
bigger,  you  know.  Well,  he  —  papa,  I  mean  — 
lost  his  head  and  got  me  by  the  arm.  He's  horri 
bly  strong.  He  got  me  by  the  right  arm  a  little 
above  the  wrist,  and  threw  me  half  across  the 
room,  and  when  I  tried  to  help  myself  up  —  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  threw  you  down?  " 
cried  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  really  horrified. 

"Yes  —  of  course!  With  all  his  might,  half 
across  the  room,  so  that  I  rolled  on  the  floor. 
Well,  when  I  tried  to  get  up,  my  arm  was  broken, 
and  Jack  was  wrestling  with  papa.  1  couldn't 
help  screaming  when  I  fell,  and  that  roused  the 
house,  first  the  servants,  and  then  uncle  Kobert, 
in  those  queer  white  velvet  clothes  he  wears  — 


308  THE  RALSTONS. 

don't  you  know?  Jack  told  what  had  happened, 
and  uncle  Robert  was  furious  and  ordered  papa  to 
leave  the  house  —  he  swore  awfully  —  I  never  saw 
him  so  angry.  So  papa  went.  But  it  was  the 
rage,  I  suppose,  and  the  exertion  —  they  used  up 
all  the  dear  old  man's  strength  — " 

She  stopped  speaking  suddenly  as  her  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  dead  man,  and  her  expression 
changed.  Her  eyes  filled  very  slowly  with  tears, 
that  would  not  quite  brim  over,  but  dimmed  her 
sight.  When  she  turned  her  head  again,  she  saw 
that  her  mother  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bed.  Katharine  did  not 
understand.  A  convulsive  sob  shook  the  shapely 
shoulders,  and  the  golden  hair  trembled. 

"  Mother  dear  —  don't  cry  so !  "  said  Katharine, 
putting  out  her  left  hand  and  touching  the  fair 
head  with  a  caress.  "I  know  —  you  were  very 
fond  of  him  —  of  course  —  " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  looked  up  suddenly  with  stream 
ing  eyes  and  a  face  drawn  in  pain.  She  shook 
her  head  slowly. 

"It's  not  that,  child  —  it's  not  that!  It's  the 
other  —  " 

"  About  me,  dearest?  "  asked  Katharine.  "  Don't 
cry  about  me.  I'm  all  right.  It  hurts  a  little 
now,  but  it  will  soon  be  over." 

"No  —  child  —  you— you  don't  understand!" 
answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  with  trembling  lips. 


THE  RALSTONS.  309 

A  passionate  burst  of  weeping  hindered  her  from 
saying  more.  Katharine  tried  to  soothe  her  with 
voice  and  hand,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Then 
she  just  let  her  hand  rest  there,  touching  her 
mother's  cheek,  and  lay  quite  still,  waiting  till  the 
storm  should  pass.  It  lasted  long,  for  in  the  midst 
of  her  sorrow  and  indignation  there  was  the  acute 
consciousness  of  the  part  she  herself  had  borne  in 
all  that  had  happened. 

"It's  my  fault,  it's  all  my  fault!"  she  sobbed, 
at  last. 

"No,  mother  —  why?  I  don't  understand!  Try 
and  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

Little  by  little  the  sobs  subsided  and  Mrs.  Lau- 
derdale  dried  her  eyes.  Katharine  really  did  not 
at  all  understand  what  was  taking  place.  She 
thought  her  mother  must  be  hysterical.  Dark 
women  rarely  understand  the  moods  of  fair 
ones. 

"You  don't  know  how  dreadful  it  seems  to  me," 
said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  as  she  grew  calmer.  "It 
seems  —  somehow  —  awful !  There's  no  other  word. 
Your  father  treating  you  in  such  a  way  —  and 
fighting  with  Jack!  But  it  isn't  only  that  —  it's 
deeper.  I've  done  very  wrong  myself.  I've  been 
very  bad  —  much  worse  than  you  know  —  " 

"You,  bad?  Oh,  mother!  You're  losing  your 
head !  Don't  say  such  absurd  things.  You  —  well, 
you  did  go  against  Jack  and  me  rather  suddenly 


310  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

last  winter,  and  I  couldn't  quite  forgive  you  at  the 
time.  But  it's  going  to  be  all  right  now." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale 's  face  grew  pale  again.  For  a 
few  moments  she  said  nothing,  and  once  or  twice 
she  bit  her  lip. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  it  was,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden  impulse  —  unwise,  perhaps,  but  gen 
erous  and  even  noble  in  its  way.  "  I  envied  you, 
dear.  That's  why  I  behaved  as  I  did." 

"Envied  me?  Envied  —  me?"  Katharine  re 
peated  the  words  slowly  and  with  a  wondering 
emphasis.  "Why?  What  for?" 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  stared  at  her  a  moment  in  sur 
prise  at  not  being  understood  immediately. 

"What  for?"  she  repeated.     "For  your  beauty 

—  because  you're  young.     Don't  you  know  how 
beautiful  you  are?" 

Katharine  stared  in  her  turn,  in  genuine  aston 
ishment.  The  idea  that  her  mother  could  envy 
her  had  never  crossed  her  mind. 

"  Yes  —  but  —  "  she  hesitated,  and  the  rich  young 
blood  rose  slowly  under  her  white  skin.  "  I  know 

—  at  least  —  "  she  stammered,  ".people  sometimes 
tell  me  I'm  good-looking,  of  course.     But  —  but 
the  idea  —  of  your  envying  —  me !    Why  —  it  never 
occurred  to  me !  " 

"It's  true,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  looking  down 
and  pulling  at  the  lace  on  the  pillow,  with  a 
regretful  smile. 


THE  RALSTONS.  311 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Katharine,  sud 
denly.  "It's  impossible  —  you  may  have  thought 
you  did,  once  — 

"No,  it's  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  and 
the  smile  faded  and  was  lost  in  the  contrite  expres 
sion  which  came  into  her  face. 

She  had  made  her  confession  and  wished  to  go 
to  the  end  of  it.  She  was  trying  to  make  a 
reparation,  being  a  good  woman,  and  she  found  it 
hard,  especially  as  her  daughter  did  not  half 
understand  what  she  meant. 

"I'm  losing  my  beauty,  Katharine,"  she  said, 
and  every  word  of  the  acknowledgment  cut  her. 
"It's  going,  day  by  day,  little  by  little.  You 
don't  know  —  it's  as  though  my  life-blood  were 
being  drained  —  it's  worse  —  sometimes.  I'd  rather 
die  than  grow  old  and  faded.  You  see,  it's  all  I 
had.  I  know  now  how  much  I've  cared  for  it  — 
now  that  it's  so  hopeless  to  try  and  get  it  back. 
And  one  evening  last  winter  —  Crowdie  was  there 
—  he  kept  looking  at  you  while  I  was  talking  to 
him,  and  then  I  caught  sight  of  my  face  in  the 
little  glass  that  hangs  from  the  mantel-shelf.  I 
shan't  forget  how  I  looked.  I  knew  then." 

Her  face  grew  suddenly  weary  and  half -desperate 
now,  as  she  told  the  little  story  of  the  hardest 
moment  in  her  life.  Katharine  listened  in  won 
dering  silence,  knowing  that  she  was  learning  one 
of  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart.  Mrs.  Lauder- 


312  THE  R ALSTONS. 

dale  paused  a  moment,  and  shivered  a  little,  per 
haps  with  the  last  after-sob  of  her  convulsive 
weeping. 

"Yes  —  I  knew  then,"  she  continued,  in  a  low 
voice  and  still  looking  down.  "  I  knew  how  much 
it  had  all  meant.  And  I  began  to  hate  you. 
Don't  be  horrified,  child.  I  loved  you  just  as  much, 
but  I  hated  you,  too.  How  funny  that  sounds! 
But  I  can't  say  it  any  other  way.  It  wasn't  you  I 
hated  —  at  least  it  wasn't  the  same  you  that  I  loved. 
It  was  your  face,  and  your  freshness,  and  your 
youth  —  and  that  walk  of  yours.  I  wanted  you  to 
be  all  covered  up,  so  that  no  one  could  see  you  — 
then  I  should  have  loved  you  just  as  much  and 
in  just  the  same  way  as  ever.  Do  you  under 
stand?  I  want  you  to  understand.  You  must, 
or  I  shall  never  be  a  happy  woman  again.  What 
I  suffered!  So  I  made  you  suffer,  too.  Do  you 
know  what  I  thought?  You  must  know  everything 
now.  I  thought  that  if  I  could  separate  you  and 
Jack  and  make  you  marry  some  one  else  —  since 
you  couldn't  marry  him  —  why,  then  you'd  have 
been  away  somewhere  else,  and  I  could  feel  again 
that  I  was  quite  beautiful.  Only  for  a  month  — 
one  month !  If  I  could  only  have  that  feeling  of 
being  perfectly  beautiful  again  —  just  for  one 
month." 

She  bowed  her  head  again  and  hid  her  face  in 
the  pillow,  for  she  was  blushing  with  shame  —  the 


THE  EALSTONS.  313 

good  red  shame  that  honest  blood  brings  from  a 
sinful  heart.  The  sight  of  the  blush  pained  Katha 
rine  far  more  than  the  thought  of  what  caused  it. 

"Mother  dear  —  "  she  stroked  the  golden  hair  — 
"it's  all  over  now.  What  does  it  matter?  You 
don't  hate  me  now !  " 

"Hate  you!  Ah,  Katharine  —  I  never  hated 
you  without  loving  you  just  as  much.  I  never 
said  those  hateful  things  but  what  the  loving  ones 
fought  them  and  came  out  when  I  was  all  alone. 
The  moment  you  were  gone,  it  was  all  different. 
The  moment  I  didn't  have  to  look  at  you  —  and 
think  of  myself,  and  the  little  wrinkles.  Oh,  the 
vile,  horrid  little  wrinkles  —  what  they've  cost 
me !  And  what  they've  made  me  do !  And  they're 
growing  deeper  —  to  punish  me  —  pity  me,  dear, 
if  you  can't  forgive  me  —  " 

"Ah  —  don't  talk  like  that!  I  never  guessed  it, 
and  now  —  why,  I  shall  never  think  of  it  again. 
Unless  I  have  a  daughter  some  day  —  and  then  I 
daresay  I  shall  feel  just  as  you've  felt.  It  seems 
so  natural,  somehow  —  now  that  you've  explained 
it." 

"Does  it?  Does  it  seem  natural  to  you?  Are 
you  sure  you  understand  ?  "  Mrs .  Lauderdale  looked 
up  anxiously. 

"  Of  course  I  understand !  "  answered  Katharine, 
reassuring  her.  "You've  always  been  the  most 
beautiful  woman  everywhere,  and  just  for  a  little 


314  THE  RALSTONS. 

while  you  thought  you  weren't,  because  you  were 
tired  and  not  looking  well.  You  remember  how 
tired  you  used  to  be  last  winter,  mother,  when  you 
were  working  so  hard  and  then  dancing  every  night, 
into  the  bargain.  It  was  no  wonder!  But  you 
are,  you  know  —  you're  quite  the  most  beautiful 
creature  I  ever  saw,  and  you  always  will  be." 

Yet  Katharine  in  her  heart,  though  she  was 
comforting  her  mother  and  really  helping  her  with 
every  word  she  said,  was  by  no  means  sure  that 
she  quite  understood  it  all.  At  least,  it  was  very 
strange  to  her,  being  altogether  foreign  to  her  own 
nature.  With  all  his  faults,  her  father  had  scarcely 
a  trace  of  personal  vanity,  and  she  had  inherited 
much  of  her  character  from  him.  The  absence  of 
avarice,  as  a  mainspring  which  directed  his  life, 
and  the  presence  of  a  certain  delicacy  of  human 
feeling,  together  with  a  good  share  of  her  mother's 
wit,  were  the  chief  causes  of  the  wide  difference 
between  her  and  Alexander.  It  was  hard  for  one 
so  very  proud  and  so  little  vain  to  understand 
how,  in  her  mother,  vanity  could  so  easily  have 
driven  pride  out.  Yet  she  did  her  best  to  imagine 
herself  in  a  like  position,  and  was  quite  willing  to 
believe  that  she  might  have  acted  in  the  same 
way. 

"Thank  you,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
simply.  "  I  don't  know  why  I've  told  you  all  this 
just  this  morning.  I've  been  trying  to  for  a  long 


THE  RALSTONS.  315 

time.  But  I  hadn't  the  courage,  I  suppose.  And 
now  —  somehow  —  we're  more  alone  in  the  world 
than  we  were,  since  the  dear  old  uncle  has  gone 
—  and  we  shall  be  more  to  each  other.  I  feel  it. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  do." 

"  Yes  —  I  do."  And  Katharine's  thoughts  again 
went  back  to  that  strange  death-scene  in  the  night, 
in  the  white  room  with  the  soft,  warm  light.  "  We 
shall  miss  him  more,  by  and  by.  He  was  a  very 
live  man.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean?  Whatever 
one  did,  one  always  felt  that  he  was  there.  It 
wasn't  because  he  was  so  rich  —  though,  of  course, 
we  all  have  had  the  sensation  of  a  great  power 
behind  us  —  a  sort  of  overwhelming  reserve  against 
fate,  don't  you  know?  But  it  really  wasn't  that. 
He  was  such  a  man!  Do  you  know?  I  can't 
fancy  that  uncle  Robert  ever  did  a  bad  thing  in 
his  life.  I  don't  mean  starchy,  stodgy  goodness. 
He  swore  at  papa  most  tremendously  yesterday  — 
only  yesterday  —  just  think!"  She  paused  a  mo 
ment  sadly.  "No,"  she  continued,  "I  don't  mean 
that.  He  always  seemed  to  go  straight  when  every 
one  else  went  crooked  —  straight  to  the  end,  as 
well  as  he  could.  Oh,  mother  —  I  saw  him  die, 
you  know !  I  didn't  know  death  was  like  that !  " 

"It  must  have  been  dreadful  for  you,  poor 
child  —  " 

"Dreadful?  No  —  it  was  strange  —  a  sort  of 
awe.  He  looked  so  grand,  lying  there  amidst  the 


316  THE  EALSTONS. 

white  velvet!  I  see  it  now,  but  I  didn't  think  of 
it  then  —  the  picture  comes  back  —  " 

"Yes  —  I've  seen  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
softly.  "His  face  is  beautiful  now." 

"It  wasn't  beautiful  then  —  it  was  something 
else  —  I  don't  know.  I  felt  that  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world  was  happening  —  the  great 
thing  that  happens  to  us  all  some  day.  I  didn't 
feel  that  he  was  dying  exactly  —  nor  that  I  should 
never  hear  him  speak  again  after  those  last  words." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Mrs.  Lauderdale. 
"No,"  she  added,  contradicting  herself  quickly. 
"If  it's  anything  like  a  secret,  I  don't  want  to 
know." 

"  It  wasn't.  He  looked  at  me  very  strangely,  and 
then  he  said,  quite  loud,  'Domine  quo  vadis?  ' ' 

"Lord,  whither  goest  Thou,"  said  Mrs.  Lauder 
dale,  translating  the  familiar  words  to  herself. 
"  Did  you  say  anything?  " 

"I  answered,  'Tendit  ad  astra.'  We  had  both 
said  the  same  things  once  before,  some  time  ago. 
He  heard  me,  and  then  he  died  —  that  was  all." 

At  this  point  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  rose  and  went  to  see  who  was 
there.  Leek,  the  butler,  clad  in  deep  mourning 
already,  stood  outside.  There  was  a  puzzled  look 
in  his  face. 

"If  you  please,  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  I  don't  know 
what  to  do,  and  I'd  wish  for  your  orders  —  " 


THE  E ALSTONS.  317 

"Yes  — what  is  it?" 

"  There's  Mr.  Crowdie  downstairs,  madam,  want 
ing  the  picture  of  Miss  Lauderdale  that  he  brought 
yesterday  for  poor  Mr.  Lauderdale,  and  desirin'  to 
remove  it.  But  the  impression  downstairs  seems 
to  be  that  Mr.  Crowdie  presented  it  to  poor  Mr. 
Lauderdale  yesterday,  in  which  case  it  appears  to 
me,  madam,  to  be  part  of  poor  Mr.  Lauderdale 's 
belongings." 

"Oh!  Well  —  wait  a  minute,  please.  I'll  ask 
my  daughter  if  she  knows  anything  about  it." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  re-entered  the  room. 

"  I  heard  what  he  was  saying, "  said  Katharine, 
before  her  mother  could  speak.  "He  distinctly 
said  he  gave  the  picture  to  uncle  Robert.  I  was 
there  when  he  brought  it.  Isn't  that  just  like 
them  —  coming  to  get  what  they  can  when  he's 
hardly  dead!" 

"Yes  — but  what  shall  we  do?" 

"I  don't  care.  He'll  give  it  to  Hester,  as  he 
meant  to  do  at  first.  Let  him  take  it." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  went  to  the  door  again. 

"  Let  Mr.  Crowdie  have  his  picture,  Leek.  I'll 
be  responsible." 

"Very  good,  madam." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  death  of  Robert  Lauderdale  was  the  news 
of  the  day,  and  produced  a  profound  impression 
everywhere.  Even  the  city  put  on,  here  and 
there,  an  outward  token  of  mourning,  for  on  every 
building  of  the  many  which  had  belonged  to  him, 
the  flag,  if  it  were  flying,  was  half-masted.  New 
York  is  a  city  of  many  flags,  and  the  eye  is  accus 
tomed  to  attach  meaning  to  their  position. 

And  people  spoke  with  respect  of  the  dead  man, 
which  rarely  happens  when  the  very  rich  are  sud 
denly  gone.  He  had  done  well  with  his  money, 
and  every  one  said  so.  He  had  been  more  charita 
ble  than  many  had  guessed  until  those  who  had  been 
helped  by  him  began  to  bemoan  their  loss.  Stories 
went  about  of  his  having  known,  personally  and  by 
name,  such  men  as  the  conductors  on  the  Elevated 
Road,  and  of  his  having  visited  them  in  their 
homes  —  them  and  many  others.  His  death  made 
no  difference  to  any  one  in  Wall  Street,  and  every 
one  in  Wall  Street  was  therefore  prepared  to 
praise  him. 

Forthwith  began  the  speculation  and  gossip  in 
regard  to  the  will.  John  Ralston  heard  much  of 
318 


THE  R ALSTONS.  319 

it,  and  he  observed  a  curious  tendency  amongst 
the  men  at  the  bank  to  treat  him  with  greater 
deference  than  usual. 

The  Ralstons  had  been  informed  of  the  final 
catastrophe  early  in  the  morning.  John  had  im 
mediately  gone  to  Kobert  Lauderdale's  house, 
rather  to  enquire  about  Katharine's  condition  than 
for  any  other  purpose,  and  had  thence  proceeded 
down  town.  There  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  go  to  the  bank  as  usual,  he  thought.  The 
dead  man  had  only  been  his  great-uncle,  and  he 
had  determined  to  make  Mr.  Beman  change  his 
mind,  and  to  counteract  the  influence  of  Alexander 
Junior.  The  best  way  to  do  this  was  to  go  to  work 
as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Before  he  had 
been  half  an  hour  at  his  desk,  his  friend  Hamil 
ton  Bright,  the  junior  partner  in  the  firm,  came  up 
to  him. 

Hamilton  Bright  was  a  sturdy,  heavily  built 
man,  five  and  thirty  years  of  age,  with  a  prosper 
ous  air  —  what  bankers  call  'a  lucky  face/  He 
was  fair  as  a  Saxon,  pink  and  white  of  complex 
ion,  with  clear,  honest  eyes,  and  quiet,  resolute 
features.  In  his  early  youth  he  had  gone  to  the 
West,  and  driven  cattle  in  the  Nacimiento  Valley, 
had  made  some  fortunate  investments  with  the 
small  fortune  he  had  inherited,  had  returned  to 
New  York,  gone  into  Beman  Brothers'  bank,  and 
in  the  course  of  a  few  years  had  been  taken  into 


320  THE  RALSTONS: 

the  partnership.  He  was  an  extremely  normal 
man.  His  only  peculiarity  was  a  sort  of  almost 
fatherly  attachment  to  John  Ralston,  about  which 
he  did  not  reason.  The  shadow  in  his  life  was  his 
love  for  Katharine  Lauderdale,  of  which,  for 
John's  sake,  he  had  never  spoken,  but  which  he 
was  quite  unable  to  conceal. 

He  came  to  John's  desk  and  spoke  to  him  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I  say,  Jack,"  he  began,  "is  it  true  that  cousin 
Katharine  has  broken  her  arm  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Ralston,  bending  his  black 
brows.  "How  did  you  hear  it?" 

"It's  got  about  and  into  the  papers.  There's  a 
paragraph  about  it.  They  say  she  fell  downstairs/' 

"  Some  servant  told,  I  suppose,  and  got  a  dollar 
for  the  item.  It's  the  small  bone  of  her  right 
arm  —  she  was  staying  with  poor  uncle  Robert, 
and  she  had  a  fall  —  somehow,"  added  Ralston, 
vaguely.  "She  must  have  been  there  when  he 
died.  It  was  awfully  sudden  at  the  end.  I  saw 
him  yesterday  afternoon.  He  seemed  pretty 
strong.  I  went  this  morning  to  enquire  about 
cousin  Katharine  —  they  say  he  died  very  peace 
fully.  Failure  of  the  heart,  you  know."  . 

Bright  nodded  thoughtfully,  as  he  leaned  one 
elbow  upon  Ralston's  desk. 

"What  sort  of  a  will  is  it  going  to  turn  out?" 
he  asked,  after  a  moment's  pause. 


THE  EALSTONS.  321 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  answered  John, 
with  perfect  truth. 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  you  if  he  had  died 
intestate.  Your  mother  and  old  Alexander  are  the 
next  of  kin.  They'd  get  something  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  thirty  or  forty  millions  apiece.  You'd 
give  up  clerking,  Jack." 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  If  I  were  ever  to 
have  much  money,  a  year  in  a  bank  wouldn't  do 
me  any  harm.  But  I'm  not  likely  to  stay  here. 
Cousin  Alexander's  a  good  enemy  to  me.  He's 
been  telling  Mr.  Beman  that  I  drink,  and  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  Mr.  Beman  has  requested  me  to 
leave  on  the  first  of  the  month." 

"  You  don't  mean  that?  "  Hamilton  Bright 's  fair 
Saxon  face  reddened  in  sudden  anger  for  his  friend. 

"Of  course  I  do." 

Ralston  told  him  exactly  what  had  happened, 
and  by  the  time  he  had  finished,  Alexander  Lau- 
derdale  Junior  had  another  enemy,  and  a  dangerous 
one.  Had  Bright  known  all,  and  especially  that 
Katharine  owed  her  broken  arm  to  her  father's 
violence,  something  unexpected  might  have  hap 
pened.  Bright  had  for  Katharine  all  the  Quixotic 
devotion  which  a  pure  and  totally  unrequited  love 
can  inspire  in  a  perfectly  simple  disposition,  which 
has  been  brought  into  rather  close  contact  with  the 
uncompromising  code  of  such  a  region  as  the  Kaci- 
miento  Valley. 

VOL.    I. 21 


322  THE  RALSTON8. 

"And  you  wish  to  stay  in  the  bank?"  asked 
Bright,  quietly,  at  last. 

"Yes.  And  you  know  very  well,  Ham,  that 
I'm  not  as  bad  as  I  used  to  be.  I'm  going  to  have 
a  talk  with  Mr.  Beman  to-day." 

"Don't  you  bother,"  answered  Bright.  "I'll 
talk  to  him  —  now." 

Hamilton  Bright's  broad  shoulders  swung  round, 
and  he  went  straight  to  the  senior  partner's  room. 
Mr.  Beman  was  in  his  usual  seat  at  his  huge  desk. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  Ralston,  Mr. 
Beman,"  he  said,  briefly,  laying  one  of  his  broad 
hands  upon  the  shelf  of  the  desk.  "You've  told 
him  to  go  on  the  first  of  the  month,  because 
Mr.  Alexander  Lauderdale  informed  you  that  he 
drank." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Beman,  "I  have,  though 
I  don't  know  how  you  heard  that  it  was  through 
Mr.  Lauderdale." 

"Well  —  it's  a  fact,  or  Ralston  wouldn't  have 
said  so,  in  the  first  place,  and  I  see  you  admit  it. 
But  there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  the  story.  Rals 
ton  gave  up  wine  altogether  last  winter." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Lauderdale  has 
told  me  —  a  deliberate  falsehood,  Mr.  Bright?" 
asked  the  old  banker. 

"Yes." 

Now  Mr.  Beman  had  a  very  high  opinion  of 
Hamilton  Bright,  but  he  looked  long  and  earnestly 


THE  R ALSTONS.  323 

into  the  clear  blue  eyes  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
what  to  say. 

"  I'd  not  considered  the  affair  as  of  any  import 
ance,"  he  said,  at  last.  "But  you've  made  it  very 
serious.  Mr.  Lauderdale  is  Ralston's  cousin,  and 
might  be  supposed  to  know  what  he  was  talking 
about." 

"Yes.  That  doesn't  make  it  any  better  for 
him,"  observed  Bright.  "I  know  what  I'm  talk 
ing  about,  too.  Mr.  Lauderdale  is  a  sort  of  cousin 
of  mine,  and  I  know  them  all  pretty  well.  I 
haven't  much  opinion  of  Mr.  Lauderdale,  myself." 

Again  Mr.  Beman  stared  and  met  the  calm  blue 
eyes.  He  recalled  Alexander  Junior's  steely  grey 
ones,  and  did  not  prefer  them.  But  he  said  noth 
ing.  Bright  continued. 

"  If  you  can  get  him  to  come  here,  Mr.  Beman, 
I'd  like  to  repeat  what  I've  said  in  his  presence. 
He's  a  liar,  he's  a  sneak,  and  I'm  inclined  to  think 
he's  a  scoundrel,  though  I  wouldn't  say  more." 

But  in  this  Bright  did  Alexander  Junior  an  in 
justice.  Mr.  Beman,  however,  had  not  survived 
fifty  years  of  banking  in  New  York  without  know 
ing  that  just  such  men  as  Alexander  are  sometimes 
wrecked,  morally  and  financially,  after  having 
inspired  confidence  for  half  a  lifetime. 

"You  use  pretty  strong  language,  Mr.  Bright. 
I've  known  Mr.  Lauderdale  a  long  time,  but  not 
intimately,  though  I've  always  considered  him  a 


324  THE   E ALSTONS. 

valuable  friend  in  business  relations.  I  shall  cer 
tainly  not  countenance  any  such  proceedings  as 
calling  him  to  account  for  what  he  said.  But  if 
you  are  sure  of  Ralston,  Mr.  Bright,  please  ask 
him  to  step  here  for  a  moment.  We'll  keep  him. 
Not  that  he's  likely  to  stay  long,"  added  Mr. 
Beman,  with  a  smile.  "  His  mother  and  Mr.  Lau- 
derdale's  father  are  next  of  kin  to  Mr.  Robert 
Lauderdale,  who  died  this  morning,  Pm  told.  I 
should  certainly  not  wish  to  do  an  injustice  to  any 
near  relation  of  my  old  acquaintance." 

Hamilton  Bright,  who  rarely  wasted  words, 
merely  nodded  and  left  the  room.  He  went  imme 
diately  to  Ralston  again. 

"It's  all  right,  Jack,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Beman 
wants  you  to  stay,  and  wants  to  tell  you  so.  Go 
right  in." 

"Thank  you,  Ham,"  said  Ralston,  rising. 

A  moment  later  he  was  standing  before  Mr. 
Beman.  The  old  gentleman  looked  up  over  his 
glasses. 

"Mr.  Ralston,"  he  said,  "I've  reason  to  believe 
that  I  was  hasty  yesterday.  I  understand  that  my 
friend  was  mistaken  in  what  he  said  of  you.  I 
regret  what  I  said  myself.  I  shall  be  very  glad  if 
you'll  stay  with  us.  I  learn  from  other  sources 
that  you're  very  attentive  to  your  work,  and  I  must 
say  —  Mr.  Ralston  —  "  he  smiled  pleasantly  —  "  it 
will  be  just  as  well  for  you  to  know  something 


THE  RALSTONS.  325 

about  our  business,  considering  the  position  —  the 
enviable  position  —  which  you'll  probably  some 
day  occupy." 

John  Ralston,  the  son  of  one  of  the  next  of  kin, 
was  not  quite  the  same  person  as  Jack  Ralston,  the 
grand-nephew  of  a  millionaire. 

"I  don't  know  what  position  I'm  to  occupy,"  he 
answered.  "But  I'm  very  glad  to  stay  with  you, 
Mr.  Beman  —  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for 
doing  me  this  justice." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  do  any  one  an  injustice  —  especially  a  near  rela 
tion  of  my  old  and  valued  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Robert  Lauderdale." 

Thereupon  John  Ralston  withdrew,  very  well 
satisfied.  He  had  a  sort  of  premonition  to  the 
effect  that  things  were  to  go  better  with  him.  It 
was  clear,  at  least,  that  Alexander  Junior  could 
not  prevail  against  him,  since  John  had  van 
quished  him  twice  within  twenty-four  hours.  He 
wondered  whether  Alexander  were  sitting  all  alone 
in  his  office  at  the  Trust  Company,  nervously  tap 
ping  the  table  with  his  long,  smooth  fingers,  and 
wondering  how  soon  he  was  to  know  the  contents 
of  the  will. 

The  morning  wore  on,  and  he  could  almost  see 
in  the  faces  of  his  fellow-clerks  how  the  impres 
sion  was  growing  that  he  would  turn  out  to  be  one 
of  the  heirs.  There  was  an  indescribable  some- 


326  THE  RALSTONS. 

thing  in  their  glances,  a  hardly  perceptible  change 
in  their  manner,  of  which  he  was  aware  in  spite  of 
himself.  But  no  news  came. 

At  half  past  twelve  he  went  out  and  got  his 
luncheon  at  Sutherland's,  as  usual.  When  he  came 
back,  he  found  a  note  on  his  desk  from  his  mother. 
He  opened  it  in  considerable  excitement,  for  he 
could  not  deny  that  he  hoped  a  very  large  share  of 
the  inheritance  might  come  to  Mrs.  Ralston,  if  not 
to  himself.  But  the  note  contained  no  final  news. 
Mrs.  Ralston  said  that,  considering  the  enormous 
value  of  the  estate,  the  lawyers  desired  to  make  the 
will  public  as  soon  as  possible  —  a  common  meas 
ure  in  such  cases,  as  the  sudden  demise  of  very 
rich  men  has  a  tendency  to  affect  public  confidence, 
until  it  is  known  who  is  to  have  the  principal  con 
trol  of  the  fortune.  Mrs.  Ralston  said  that  only 
she  herself  and  old  Mr.  Alexander  Lauderdale,  as 
being  the  two  next  of  kin,  had  been  requested  to 
hear  the  will  read  that  afternoon.  She  advised 
him  to  come  home  and  wait  for  her,  as  early  as 
he  could  conveniently  leave  the  bank. 

That  was  all,  and  he  had  to  possess  his  soul  in 
patience  during  several  hours  more.  His  mother 
had  not  yet  seen  Katharine,  and  did  not  mention 
her.  It  was  impossible  to  foresee  what  she  would 
do,  but  it  was  clear  enough  that  she  would  not,  and 
could  not,  return  to  her  father's  house  at  once. 

Before  the  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  the  wis- 


THE  R ALSTONS.  327 

dom  of  the  lawyers'  advice  about  the  reading  of 
the  will  became  apparent.  Rumours  were  afloat 
that  the  whole  fortune  was  to  go  to  old  Alexander, 
and  rumour  further  stated  that  he  was  in  his  dotage, 
and  would  be  capable  of  selling  miles  of  real  estate 
to  found  a  refuge  for  escaped  lunatics.  Serious 
persons  gave  no  credit  to  such  talk,  of  course,  but 
any  one  acquainted  with  New  York  knows  how 
little,  at  a  given  moment,  may  upset  the  market 
and  cause  disaster.  The  reason  of  this  appears  to 
be  that  there  are  more  undertakings  unfinished  yet, 
or  just  begun,  in  America,  than  there  are  else 
where,  which  depend  for  their  success  altogether 
upon  a  period  of  comparative  calm  in  financial 
affairs.  To  check  them,  though  they  might  turn 
out  well,  is  often  to  kill  them,  which  means  ruin 
to  those  who  have  backed  them  at  the  beginning. 

But  matters  proceeded  rapidly.  Before  Ralston 
left  the  bank,  the  newsboys  were  crying  the  even 
ing  papers,  containing,  as  they  avowed,  'the  ex 
traordinary  will  of  Robert  Lauderdale. '  In  five 
minutes  every  one  in  the  bank  had  read  the  state 
ment. 

There  was  a  paragraph  in  which,  after  giving  the 
reasons  for  making  the  will  public  at  once,  its 
principal  conditions  were  named.  John,  who 
knew  nothing  of  what  Katharine  had  heard,  was 
neither  surprised  nor  disappointed.  The  para 
graph  had  evidently  been  written  by  one  of  the 


OF  THF 

UNIVERSITY 


328  THE  RALSTONS. 

lawyers,  and  sent  to  all  the  papers  for  publication, 
and  there  was  no  account  of  any  interview  with 
any  of  the  heirs.  It  was  a  plain  account,  as  far 
as  was  possible. 

Mr.  Robert  Lauderdale,  it  said,  had  never  mar 
ried;  but  he  had  numerous  relations,  who  were  all 
descended  from  the  original  Alexander  Lauder 
dale,  the  grandfather  of  the  deceased.  In  order  to 
avoid  all  possible  litigation  after  his  death,  Mr. 
Lauderdale  had  left  his  fortune  as  though  it  had 
been  left  by  his  grandfather,  regularly  distributed 
amongst  all  the  heirs  of  the  primeval  Alexander, 
with  no  legacies  whatsoever,  excepting  certain 
annuities  to  be  bought  of  an  insurance  company 
before  the  distribution,  for  the  benefit  of  the  ser 
vants  in  his  employ  at  the  time  of  his  death.  The 
will,  said  the  paragraph,  bore  a  very  recent  date, 
and  had  been  drawn  up,  strange  to  say,  by  a  young 
lawyer  of  no  particular  standing.  The  names  of 
the  witnesses  were  also  given,  and,  oddly  enough, 
they  were  persons  quite  unknown  to  any  one  con 
cerned.  The  paragraph  went  on  to  say  that  it  was 
presumed  that  the  will  would  not  be  contested  by  any 
one,  and  would  be  promptly  admitted  to  probate. 
A  list  of  the  heirs  followed.  They  were :  Alexan 
der  Lauderdale  Senior,  Alexander  Lauderdale  Jun 
ior,  Mrs.  Benjamin  Slay  back,  Robert  Lauderdale 
Slayback,  her  infant  son,  Miss  Katharine  Lauder 
dale,  Mrs.  Admiral  Ralston,  John  Ralston,  Mrs. 


THE  RALSTONS.  329 

Richard  Bright,  Hamilton  Bright,  Mrs.  Walter 
Crowclie.  In  all,  there  were  ten  living  persons. 
The  property  was  to  be  divided  precisely  as 
though  the  primeval  Alexander  had  left  it  to  his 
two  sons,  and  as  though  they,  in  turn,  had  divided 
it  amongst  their  children,  down  to  the  youngest 
living  heir,  who  was  Benjamin  Slayback's  baby 
boy. 

John  Kalston  pored  over  the  paragraph  till  he 
knew  it  by  heart.  Then,  as  soon  as  he  proceeded 
to  apply  the  terms  to  actual  circumstances,  he  saw 
that  one-half  of  the  whole  fortune  must  go  to 
Hamilton  Bright,  his  mother,  and  his  sister,  Hes 
ter  Crowdie.  Of  the  remaining  half,  he  and  his 
mother  would  have  half  between  them,  or  a  quar 
ter  of  the  whole.  The  smallest  share  would  go  to 
those  who  actually  bore  the  name  of  Lauderdale, 
for  only  the  last  quarter  would  remain  to  be 
distributed  between  the  two  Alexanders,  Char 
lotte,  Katharine,  and  Charlotte's  child.  Eobert 
Lauderdale  had  thus  provided  a  little  more  liber 
ally  for  Katharine  and  himself  than  for  most  of 
the  members  of  the  family,  since  they  were  to 
have,  ultimately,  more  than  a  quarter  of  the  whole. 
And  Alexander  Junior  would  get  one  of  the  small 
est  shares.  But  it  seemed  strange  that  the 
Brights  should  have  so  much,  though  it  was  just 
possible  that  the  old  gentleman  might  have  thought 
it  wise  to  place  a  large  share  in  the  hands  of  a 


330  THE  RALSTON8. 

trained  man  of  business  who  would  keep  it  to 
gether. 

On  his  side,  Hamilton  Bright  had  made  the  same 
calculations,  and  was  as  near  to  losing  his  head 
with  delight  as  his  calm  nature  made  possible. 
He  came  up  to  Jack,  and  proposed  that  they  should 
walk  up  town  together  and  discuss  matters. 

"I  can't,"  answered  Ralston.  "I'll  go  a  bit  of 
the  way  on  foot,  but. my  mother  wants  to  see  me  as 
soon  as  possible." 

They  went  out,  followed  by  the  envious  eyes  of 
many  who  had  read  the  paragraphs.  In  a  few 
days  they  were  both  to  have  millions. 

"  Well, "  said  Ralston,  when  they  were  together 
on  the  pavement  of  Broad  Street,  "  it's  a  queer 
will,  isn't  it?  I  suppose  we  ought  to  congratulate 
each  other." 

"Wait  till  it's  all  settled,"  answered  Bright, 
cautiously.  "Not  that  there's  going  to  be  any 
difficulty,  as  far.  as  I  can  see,"  he  added.  "It 
seems  to  be  all  right,  and  properly  witnessed." 

"Oh  —  it's  all  right  enough.  But  if  Alexander 
Junior  can  fight  it,  he  will.  He's  come  out  worse 
than  he  expected.  The  only  odd  thing,  to  my 
mind,  is  the  name  of  the  lawyer.  Who  is  George 
W.  Russell,  anyway?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  him?  " 

"Oh,  yes  —  I  know  who  he  is.  He's  a  young 
chap  who's  lately  set  up  for  himself  —  real  estate. 
I  think  I  heard  of  his  doing  some  work  for  uncle 


THE  EALSTONS.  331 

Robert  last  year.  He's  all  right.  And  he'd  be 
careful  about  the  witnessing  and  all  that." 

"Yes  —  well  —  but  why  did  uncle  Robert  go  to 
him?  Why  didn't  he  employ  his  own  lawyer  — 
his  regular  one,  I  mean  —  or  Henry  Brett,  or  some 
body  one's  heard  of?  I  should  think  it  would  be 
more  natural." 

"  Probably  he  had  made  another  will  before,  and 
didn't  like  to  tell  his  own  lawyer  that  he  was 
making  a  new  one.  I've  heard  it  said  that  old 
men  are  queer  about  that.  They  don't  want  any 
one  to  know  that  they've  changed  their  minds. 
When  they  do,  they're  capable  of  going  to  any 
shyster  to  get  the  papers  drawn  up.  That's  prob 
ably  what  uncle  Robert  did. " 

"  It's  a  very  just  will  in  principle,"  said  Ralston. 
"I  don't  know  what  it  will  turn  out  in  practice. 
I  wonder  what  the  estate  is  really  worth." 

"Over  eighty  millions,  anyhow.  I  know  that, 
because  Mr.  Beman  said  he  had  reason  to  be  sure 
of  it  some  time  ago." 

"That  gives  us  two  twenty  and  you  forty 
amongst  you  three.  You  didn't  expect  all  that, 
Ham." 

"Expect  it!  I  didn't  expect  anything.  The  old 
gentleman  never  said  a  word  to  me  about  it.  Of 
course  you  were  in  a  different  position,  your 
mother  being  next  of  kin  with  old  Alexander. 
But  if  Alexander  Junior  broke  the  will  —  he  can't 


332  THE  RALSTONS. 

though,  I'm  certain  —  I  shouldn't  get  anything. 
Of  course  —  I  think  any  will's  just  that  gives  me 
a  lot  of  money.  And  if  Alexander  fights,  I'll 
fight,  too." 

"  He  will,  if  he  has  an  inch  of  ground  to  stand 
on.  By  the  bye,  if  all  goes  smoothly,  I  suppose 
you'll  retire  from  business,  and  I  shall  stop  clerk 
ing,  and  Crowdie  will  give  up  painting." 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Bright.  "  As  for  me, 
I  think  I  shall  stick  to  the  bank.  There'll  be 
more  interest  in  the  thing  when  I've  got  a  lot  of 
money  in  it.  Crowdie  ?  Oh  —  he'll  go  on  paint 
ing  as  long  as  he  can  see.  He  likes  it  —  and  it 
isn't  hard  work." 

They  talked  a  little  longer  in  the  same  strain, 
and  then  Ralston  left  his  friend  and  went  up  town 
by  the  Elevated,  pondering  deeply  on  the  situation. 
One  thing  seemed  clear  enough.  However  matters 
turned  out,  whether  Alexander  Junior  fought  the 
will  or  not,  Ralston  and  Katharine  would  be  free 
to  declare  their  marriage  as  soon  as  they  pleased. 
That  consideration  outweighed  all  others  with  him 
at  the  present  moment,  for  he  was  tired  of  waiting. 
It  was  four  months  since  he  had  been  married,  and 
in  that  time  he  had  seldom  had  an  opportunity 
of  talking  freely  with  his  wife.  The  perpetual 
strain  of  secrecy  was  wearing  upon  his  nervous 
nature.  He  would  at  any  time  have  preferred  to 
fight  any  one  or  anything,  rather  than  have  any- 


THE  RALSTONS.  333 

thing  to  conceal,  and  concealment  had  been  forced 
upon  him  as  a  daily  necessity. 

He  said  to  himself  with  truth  that  lie  might  as 
well  have  struck  Alexander  for  one  reason  as  for 
another;  that  he  might  just  as  well  have  faced  him 
about  the  marriage  as  about  the  calumny  upon  his 
own  character  which  Alexander  had  uttered.  But 
circumstances  had  been  against  his  doing  so.  At 
no  moment  yet,  until  the  present,  had  he  felt  him 
self  quite  free  to  take  Katharine  from  her  home 
and  to  bring  her  to  his  mother's.  Alexander's 
own  violence  had  made  it  possible.  And  he  had 
intended,  or  he  and  his  mother  had  agreed,  to  take 
the  step  at  once,  when  suddenly  Robert  Lauder- 
dale's  death  had  arrested  everything.  There  were 
fifty  reasons  for  not  declaring  the  marriage  now, 
or  for  several  weeks  to  come  — chief  of  all,  per 
haps,  the  mere  question  of  good  taste.  To  declare 
a  marriage  on  the  very  morrow  of  a  death  in  the 
family  would  surprise  people;  the  world  would 
find  it  easy  to  believe  that  the  young  couple  had 
acted  contrary  to  Robert  Lauderdale's  wishes,  and 
had  waited  for  his  death,  in  fear  of  losing  any 
part  of  the  inheritance  by  offending  him.  Such 
haste  would  not  be  decent. 

But  there  would  be  no  need  to  wait  long,  John 
thought,  and  in  the  meantime  Katharine  could 
surely  not  go  back  to  Clinton  Place. 

Wherever   else   she   might  be,  he   should  have 


334  THE  RALSTONS. 

plenty  of  opportunities  of  seeing  her  at  his  leisure. 
He  reached  his  home  and  found  his  mother  waiting 
for  him  in  his  study.  She  was  pale  and  looked 
tired. 

"I  suppose  you've  heard?"  she  said,  inter 
rogatively,  as  he  entered.  "I  see  it's  in  all  the 
papers." 

"Yes,"  answered  John,  gravely.  "I've  been 
talking  with  Ham  Bright  —  we  left  the  bank  to 
gether." 

"I  suppose  he's  in  the  seventh  heaven,"  said 
Mrs.  Ralston.  "Who  would  ever  have  expected 
such  a  will?" 

"I'm  sure  I  didn't.  May  I  smoke,  mother?  I 
haven't  had  a  chance  all  day." 

"Of  course  —  always  smoke.  I  like  it.  Jack 
—  I've  been  there  most  of  the  day,  you  know.  I 
went  in  twice  to  look  at  him.  What  a  grand  old 
man  he  was !  I  wish  you  could  see  him  lying  there 
on  white  velvet  like  an  old  king." 

"  I  don't  like  to  see  dead  people,"  answered  Rals 
ton,  lighting  a  cigar.  "Besides  —  I  was  fond  of 
him." 

"So  was  I.  Don't  think  I  wasn't,  my  dear  — 
very  fond  of  him.  But  you  and  I  don't  look  at 
those  things  just  in  the  same  way,  I  know.  I 
wish  I  could  see  them  as  you  do  —  dream  of  some 
thing  beyond,  as  you  do.  To  me  —  feeling  that  it's 
all  over,  and  that  he  is  there,  dead  on  his  bed,  and 


THE  EALSTONS.  335 

nowhere  else,  all  there  is  of  him  now,  or  ever  will 
be  —  well,  I  was  glad  to  see  him  as  I  did.  I  shall 
always  remember  him  as  I  saw  him  to-day.  I 
wish  I  believed  something.  To  me  —  the  only 
hope  is  the  hope  of  memory  for  good  things  and 
forgetfulness  for  bad  things,  as  long  as  life  lasts. 
I've  got  another  good  memory  of  a  good  man  I 
was  fond  of  —  so  I've  got  something." 

"It's  a  depressing  sort  of  creed,"  said  Ralston, 
smoking  thoughtfully.  "Not  that  mine's  worth 
much,  I  suppose.  Still  —  " 

He  let  the  word  imply  what  it  might,  and  puffed 
slowly  at  his  cigar.  Mrs.  Ralston  passed  her  hand 
over  her  eyes,  and  said  nothing  in  answer. 

"  I  don't  care !  "  exclaimed  John,  suddenly.  "  I 
can't  believe  it  all  ends  here.  I  can't,  and  I 
won't.  There's  something  —  somewhere,  I  dare 
say  I  shall  never  get  it,  but  there's  something.  I 
know  it,  because  I  feel  there  is.  It's  in  me,  and 
you,  and  everybody." 

Mrs.  Ralston  smiled  sadly.  She  had  heard  her 
husband  triumphantly  refute  the  ontological  argu 
ment  many  a  time. 

"I  wish  I  felt  it  in  me,  then,"  she  answered, 
sincerely.  "Jack  —  isn't  there  something  strange 
about  this  will,  though?  An  unknown  lawyer, 
servants  for  witnesses  —  all  that,  as  though  it  had 
been  done  in  a  hurry.  It  seems  odd  to  me." 

"Yes.     Bright  and  I  were  talking  about  it." 


336  THE  ItALSTONS. 

He  went  on  to  tell  her  what  Bright  thought. 

"He  says  he  knows  the  lawyer,  though,"  he 
concluded,  "and  that  he's  a  straight  man,  so  it 
must  be  all  right." 

"  Mr.  Allen  said  he'd  only  heard  his  name  men 
tioned  once  or  twice  lately,"  said  Mrs.  Kalston. 
"It  was  a  long,  long  will.  Then  every  servant 
was  mentioned  by  name.  I  had  no  idea  there 
could  be  so  many  in  the  house." 

"Who  are  the  witnesses?"  asked  John. 

"  One  was  the  secretary  —  you  know?  That  nice 
young  fellow  who  used  to  be  about.  I  don't  know 
who  the  others  were  —  I've  forgotten  their  names. 
Mr.  Allen  didn't  seem  to  think  there'd  be  any 
difficulty  about  finding  them.  He  thought  the 
property  was  all  in  this  State  —  most  of  it's  in  the 
city,  so  that  the  will  could  be  proved  immediately." 

"Well  — I  hope  so.  But  I  believe  there'll  be 
some  trouble.  Alexander  only  comes  in  for  a 
small  share.  He'll  do  his  best  to  break  the  will, 
so  as  to  get  the  money  divided  between  his  father 
and  you.  The  Brights  would  get  nothing,  in  that 
case.  We  should  get 'a  lot  more,  of  course  —  but 
then  —  I  can't  realize  what  twenty  millions  mean, 
can  you?  What  difference  will  it  make  in  our 
lives,  whether  we  have  twenty  or  forty?  Those 
sums  are  mythological,  anyhow.  The  more  a  man 
has,  above  ten  millions,  the  more  care  and  bother 
and  worry  and  enemies  he's  got  for  the  rest  of  his 
life." 


THE  RALSTONS.  337 

"Fm  glad  to  hear  you  talk  in  that  way,  Jack," 
said  Mrs.  Ralston.  "It's  just  my  feeling.  But 
it's  not  everybody  who  thinks  so.  Most  men  — 
well,  you  know !  " 

"I  think  you're  mistaken  there,  mother,"  an 
swered  Ralston.  "I'm  talking  of  private  individ 
uals,  of  course  —  not  of  men  who  are  in  big  things, 
like  railways,  or  banks  —  but  just  private  persons 
who  want  to  livfe  on  their  income  and  enjoy  them 
selves,  and  who  haven't  enormous  families,  of 
course.  No  reasonable  being  can  spend  more  than 
rive  hundred  thousand  a  year  without  trouble  — 
at  least,  I  don't  think  so.  Uncle  Robert  didn't, 
actually  spend  three  hundred  thousand,  I've  heard 
it  said.  He  cared  for  nothing  but  white  velvet 
and  horses  —  of  all  things  to  go  together!  Of 
course  he  gave  away  a  million  a  year  or  so.  But 
that  doesn't  count  as  expenses.  All  the  rest  just 
rolled  up,  and  he  had  to  spend  hours  and  hours 
every  day  in  taking  care  of  it.  Now,  I  just  ask 
you,  what  possible  satisfaction  can  there  be  in 
that?  And  everybody  thinks  just  the  same  who's 
not  a  born  idiot  —  or  a  financier.  Now  Bright  — 
he's  different.  He's  a  partner  in  Beman's  and 
finance  amuses  him.  He'd  like  to  be  the  Astors 
and  the  Vanderbilts  and  the  Rothschilds  and  all 
the  rest  of  them,  rolled  into  one.  He'd  like  to  ride 
Wall  Street  like  a  pony  and  direct  millions,  as  he 
owns  cattle  out  in  the  Nacimieiito  Valley.  I 


VOL.  i.  —  22 


338  THE  RALSTONS. 

wouldn't,  for  my  part.  Twenty  thousand  a  year 
has  always  seemed  wealth  to  me,  though  most 
people  one  knows  say  one  can't  more  than  live  on 
it.  Did  you  see  Katharine,  mother?  " 

"  Of  course.     We  had  a  long  talk." 

"You  didn't  tell  her  anything,  I  suppose?  I 
mean,  what  we  were  talking  about  last  night?" 

"No.  I  thought  you'd  rather  tell  her  that  you'd 
told  me.  Besides  —  just  now!  But  she  can't  stay 
there,  Jack.  It's  rather  a  ghastly  situation  — 
alone  in  the  house  with  the  dead  man,  and  only 
the  servants.  That  nurse  has  stayed,  though,  to 
take  care  of  her  arm.  But  it's  grim  —  all  the 
shades  down,  and  every  one  talking  in  whispers. 
She  was  in  one  of  the  back  rooms,  so  that  she 
could  have  the  window  open." 

"Oh  —  she  was  up,  then,  was  she?  Dressed, 
and  all  that?" 

"Yes  —  it's  the  small  bone  of  the  arm.  She 
won't  have  to  stay  in  bed.  You  can  go  and  see 
her  if  you  like.  That  is,  if  she's  still  there.  I 
advised  her  to  go  and  stay  with  the  C rowdies. 
She  looked  at  me  as  though  she  wondered  whether 
I  knew  anything.  I  suppose  she  expected  that 
I'd  advise  her  to  go  home.  But  that's  impos 
sible." 

"Of  course  —  but  she  hates  Crowdie.  We  all 
do,  for  that  matter.  I  don't  believe  she'll  go. 
Didn't  she  say?" 


THE  RALSTONS.  339 

"No.  Why  do  we  all  hate  Crowdie?  We  do 
—  it's  quite  true.  By  the  bye,  he's  distinguished 
himself  to-day.  You  know  that  picture  of  Katha 
rine?" 

"Yes  —  he  gave  it  to  poor  uncle  Kobert  only 
yesterday." 

"  Well  —  he  came  and  took  it  away  this  morning 
before  ten  o'clock.  Katharine  told  me."  Mrs. 
Kalston  laughed  without  smiling. 

"  Upon  my  word !  But  it's  rather  curious,  though. 
I  didn't  know  he  was  mean.  He  never  seemed  to 
be,  somehow." 

"No  —  I  know.  It  struck  me  as  strange,  too. 
A  new  light  on  his  character." 

"  I  fancy  he  has  some  object.  I  hate  him  —  I 
loathe  him!  But  that  isn't  like  him.  I  wonder 
whether  Hester  was  angry  because  he  gave  it  away. 
It  was  for  her,  you  know,  and  she  may  not  have 
liked  his  giving  it  away.  I'll  go  and  see  Katha 
rine.  WTas  it  late  when  you  left  there?  " 

"  About  half  past  four.  I  stayed  with  her  a  long 
time  after  the  lawyer  had  gone." 

"Mother,"  said  Kalston,  suddenly,  "why  can't 
we  just  face  it  out  and  bring  her  here?  Would  it 
look  too  strange,  do  you  think?  " 

"Yes.  People  would  say  we'd  waited  for  poor 
uncle  Robert  to  die.  You  must  have  a  little  more 
patience,  dear  boy." 

"That's  just  what  I  thought  at  first,"  answered 


340  THE  RALSTONS. 

Ralston.     "I'll  go   and   see   her.     If  she   hadn't 
left  at  half  past  four,  I  don't  believe  she'll  leave 
to-day.     When  is  the  funeral  to  be?" 
"Day  after  to-morrow,  I  think." 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


THE    RALSTONS 


THE  RALSTONS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

RALSTON  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Katha 
rine  had  abandoned  all  idea  of  leaving  the  house 
on  the  Park  because  it  was  so  late.  Depressed  as 
she  was,  and  in  almost  constant  pain  from  her  arm, 
the  atmosphere  was  altogether  too  melancholy  for 
her  to  bear.  Moreover,  she  saw  how  utterly  un 
natural  her  staying  must  seem  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  should  her  acquaintances  ever  find  out  that 
she  had  remained  all  alone  in  the  great  house  after 
her  uncle's  death.  After  Mrs.  Ralston  had  left 
her,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  in  any 
case,  had  caused  her  belongings  to  be  got  ready, 
and  had  ordered  a  carriage.  But  she  had  not  quite 
decided  whither  she  would  go,  and  Ralston  found 
her  in  the  library  still  turning  the  matter  over. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  she  cried,  "I'm  so  glad  you've 
come,  dear ! " 

" I  came  this  morning,"  he  answered.  " But  you 
weren't  awake  yet.  You're  dressed  to  go  out  — 

TOL.    II. 1  1 


*  THE  R ALSTONS. 

surely  you're  not  going  to  move  at  this  hour?  Tell 
me  —  how's  the  arm?  Does  it  hurt  you  much?  " 

"Oh  —  it  hurts,  of  course,"  said  Katharine, 
almost  indifferently.  "That  is  —  it's  numb,  don't 
you  know?  But  Doctor  Routh  says  there's  noth 
ing  to  be  done  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  hasn't  moved 
the  bandages.  Now  don't  talk  about  it  any  more 
—  there  are  other  things  much  more  important. 
Sit  down,  Jack  —  there,  in  uncle  Robert's  chair. 
Poor  uncle  Robert !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  different 
tone,  realizing  that  the  old  man  would  never  sit 
beside  her  again. 

"  Poor  man !  "  echoed  Ralston,  with  real  sorrow 
in  his  voice. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  while  they  both 
thought  of  him.  The  stillness  of  the  whole  house 
was  oppressive.  There  was  an  odour  of  many 
fresh  flowers,  and  the  peculiar  smell  of  new  black 
stuffs  which  the  disposers  of  the  dead  bring  with 
them.  With  a  sort  of  instinct  of  sympathy,  John 
bent  down  and  kissed  the  gloved  wrist  of  Katha 
rine's  left  hand  as  it  lay  on  the  arm  of  the  easy- 
chair.  She  looked  at  him  quickly,  moved  her 
hand  a  little  towards  him  in  thanks,  and  smiled 
sadly  before  she  spoke. 

"Jack  —  I  can't  stay  here,"  she  said.  "I'm  not 
nervous,  you  know,  but  I'm  not  quite  myself  after 
all  this.  It's  too  awfully  melancholy.  Every 
time  I  go  to  my  room  I  have  to  pass  the  door  of 


THE   R ALSTONS.  3 

the  room  where  lie's  lying  —  and  then  I  go  in  and 
look  at  him.  It's  got  to  be  a  fixed  idea  —  if  I  go 
near  the  door  I  have  to  go  in.  And  it  brings  it  all 
back.  Then  all  the  people  — they  come  in  shoals. 
There  have  been  ever  so  many  who've  wanted  to 
look.  It's  that  horrible  curiosity  about  death.  All 
the  relations.  Even  the  three  Miss  Miners  came. 
I  thought  they'd  never  go.  Of  course  I  don't  see 
them,  so  I  have  to  be  always  dodging  in  here  or 
into  the  drawing-room,  or  the  gallery,  or  else  I 
have  to  stay  in  my  room.  It  will  be  worse  to 
morrow." 

"Yes,"  answered  Ralston.  "You  ought  not  to 
stay."  He  paused  a  moment.  "Dear,"  he  added, 
"I  want  you  to  know  it  at  once  —  I've  told  my 
mother  that  we're  married  —  " 

"  Oh,  Jack ! "  exclaimed  Katharine,  taken  by 
surprise. 

"It  was  much  better.  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
wouldn't  have  been  better  to  tell  her  long  ago. 
She  was  hurt,  because  I'd  kept  it  from  her  —  but 
she's  very  glad,  all  the  same.  You  see,  she  would 
have  had  to  know  it  all  some  day  —  don't  you  think 
I  was  right  to  tell  her  ?  " 

"Yes- — I  suppose  so.  Do  you  know?  I'm  a 
little  bit  afraid  of  her  —  well  —  not  exactly  afraid, 
perhaps  — I  don't  know  how  to  express  it  —  " 

"You  needn't  be.  She  thinks  there's  nobody 
like  you! " 


4  THE  RALSTONS. 

"I'm  glad  she's  fond  of  me,"  said  Katharine. 
"Fin  glad  you've  told  her  —  I  was  a  little  sur 
prised  at  first,  that  was  all.  Yes  —  I'm  glad  that 
she  knows." 

She  was  evidently  thinking  over  the  situation, 
wondering,  perhaps,  what  her  next  meeting  with 
her  mother-in-law  was  to  be  like. 

"She's  been  here  with  you,  hasn't  she?"  asked 
John,  resuming  the  conversation  after  a  short 
pause. 

"  Yes,  and  my  own  mother,  too  —  and  then  Mr. 
Allen,  and  dear  old  grandpapa.  Poor  old  gentle 
man!  He  sat  in  a  chair  and  cried  like  a  baby 
when  he  went  in.  And  then  the  reading  of  the 
will  —  and  the  endless  people  —  the  people  who 
have  to  do  with  the  funeral,  you  know.  All  those 
things  jar  on  me.  I  must  get  away.  I  can't  stand 
it  another  hour  —  at  least  —  not  alone.  I  think  I 
shall  go  home,  after  all." 

"Home?"  repeated  Kalston,  in  surprise.  "But 
how  can  you,  after  all  this?  Just  think  how  your 
father  will  behave!  Especially  since  he's  heard  of 
the  will.  I'm  sure  he  expected  to  divide  every 
thing  with  my  mother,  unless  he  managed  to  get  it 
all  for  himself.  I  see  why  you  promised  not  to 
tell  after  uncle  Robert  had  told  you  —  " 

"No  —  you  don't  see,  Jack,"  answered  Katha 
rine,  thoughtfully.  "I  wonder  whether  it  would 
be  right  for  me  to  tell  you  now.  I  suppose  so. 


THE  RALSTONS.  5 

It  may  make  a  difference,  though  I  suppose  it 
can't,  really." 

"Do  just  as  you  feel,  yourself,"  said  Ealston. 
"  You  know  what  he  said  —  I  don't.  I  can't  judge 
for  you." 

Katharine  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
it  seemed  best  to  confide  in  him,  and  she  turned 
towards  him  suddenly. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Jack.  This  is  not  the  will  he 
told  me  of.  It's  quite  different  in  every  way.  It 
was  only  made  a  few  days  ago." 

"Well,  then,  this  is  the  valid  one." 

"Yes  —  of  course.  The  secretary  knew  where 
it  was  —  in  a  drawer  of  this  desk,  here.  Uncle 
Robert  had  told  him  it  was  there,  only  two  days 
ago,  in  case  of  his  death.  The  key  was  on  his 
chain,  on  the  dressing-table  upstairs.  You  see 
the  secretary  was  one  of  the  witnesses." 

"That's  an  advantage,  anyway.  Witnesses  are 
often  hard  to  find,  I  know.  So  this  will  is  quite 
different  from  the  old  one?" 

"  Oh  —  quite !  The  one  he  told  me  about  left 
everything  to  you  and  Charlotte  and  me  —  in  three 
trusts,  I  think  he  said.  We  were  all  to  give  half 
our  income  to  the  parents  —  papa  and  my  mother 
and  your  mother  —  and  we  were  all  to  support 
grandpapa.  The  Brights  were  to  have  a  million, 
and  there  was  something  for  the  Miners." 

"  Why,  that  would  have  given  you  and  me  two- 


6  THE  EALSTON8. 

thirds  of  the  fortune!  That  would  hardly  have 
been  fair." 

"No  —  it  seemed  a  great  deal.  But  you  see  he 
changed  his  mind  before  he  died.  It's  much 
more  just,  as  it  is  —  though  it  does  seem  as  though 
grandpapa  and  papa  ought  to  have  more  than  the 
Brights." 

"  I  don't  see  why,  if  you  look  at  it  logically  — 
they're  descended  just  as  directly  from  our  great- 
great-grandfather  —  " 

"Yes  — but  what  had  he  to  do  with  it?  The 
money  didn't  come  from  him." 

"No  —  still  —  to  avoid  all  quarrelling,  there 
was  no  other  way.  Only  —  it's  going  to  make  the 
biggest  family  quarrel  there's  ever  been  since  wills 
were  invented.  That's  the  real  logic  of  events. 
Things  always  turn  out  like  that.  'Better  is  the 
enemy  of  good,'  you  know.  Now,  let  me  see. 
Your  father  is  going  to  try  and  break  the  will,  of 
course.  Your  grandfather  will  go  with  him,  be 
cause  if  there's  no  will,  he'll  get  half— for  his 
asylums  and  charities.  Then  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
advise  my  mother  to  go  with  him  against  the  will, 
too,  if  there's  any  good  ground  for  breaking  it.  Of 
course  we  don't  want  half  of  what  he's  left  us,  as  it 
is  —  but  still,  if  it's  law,  it's  law,  and  there's  no 
reason  why  we  shouldn't  have  what  belongs  to  us, 
if  it  does  belong  to  us.  The  Crowdies  are  as 
prosperous  as  possible.  Ham  Bright's  getting  rich, 


THE  RALSTONS.  1 

I  know  —  and  then  —  I  say,  Katharine,  if  this 
will  breaks  down,  would  the  will  he  told  you 
about  be  good,  if  we  could  find  it?  That's  a 
curious  question.  I  must  ask  a  lawyer." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  those  things. 
But  it's  getting  late,  Jack.  I  must  be  going  — 
somewhere,  but  where,  I  can't  tell!  I  think  I'd 
much  better  go  home  and  face  it  out  with  papa. 
I'm  right,  and  he's  wrong,  and  he's  got  to  give  in 
sooner  or  later.  I'd  much  better  go,  and  put  an 
end  to  all  this  —  this  tension." 

"  You're  brave  enough  for  anything !  "  exclaimed 
Ralston,  with  admiration.  "  Still,  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  go  till  after  the  funeral,  at  all  events. 
Don't  you  think  if  my  mother  came  here  and  stayed 
with  you  —  " 

"No,  no,  Jack!  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer.  I 
can't  help  going  to  look  at  him  —  I  should  go  in 
the  night  —  and  it's  making  me  nervous." 

"  How  funny !  But  if  you  don't  want  to  go  into 
the  room,  why  do  you  go?" 

"I  can't  help  it  —  I  don't  know.  I'm  a  woman, 
you  know,  and  those  things  take  hold  of  one  so ! " 

"  Somebody  ought  to  stay.  I  think  I  will.  But 
you'd  much  better  go  to  the  Crowdies'.  I  know 
you  can't  bear  him,  but  it  would  only  be  for  a 
couple  of  days.  You'd  be  with  Hester  all  the 
time,  and  you  like  her,  and  you  needn't  see  much 
of  him." 


8  THE  ^ALSTONS. 

"I  thought  of  going  to  the  Brights'.  Old  Mrs. 
Bright  and  I  are  great  friends." 

"No  —  don't!  It's  hard  on  Ham.  He's  so 
awfully  in  love  with  you." 

«  Yes  —  perhaps  he  is.  But  he's  down  town  all 
day  —  I  should  only  see  him  at  dinner,  and  a  little 
in  the  evening." 

"  Don't  be  ruthless,  Katharine !  "  exclaimed  John, 
with  almost  involuntary  reproach  in  his  tone. 

"Ruthless?"  she  repeated.  "I  don't  under 
stand.  What  is  there  that's  ruthless  in  that?  I 
could  see  you  so  much  more  freely." 

"Why  —  don't  you  know  how  it  hurts  —  that 
sort  of  thing?  To  go  and  stay  under  the  same 
roof  with  a  man  who  loves  you,  when  you  know, 
and  he  knows,  that  you  can  never  possibly  love 
him?" 

"  I  suppose  it  does,"  answered  Katharine,  vaguely. 
"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  But  then,  you  know, 
Ham  would  never  say  anything,  any  more  than  if 
he  knew  we  were  married." 

"  That  just  makes  it  so  much  the  harder,"  replied 
Ralston,  smiling  at  her  woman's  view  of  the  case. 
"Don't  you  see?" 

"Well  —  of  course,  if  you  don't  want  me  to  go, 
Jack,  I  won't.  I  believe  you're  jealous  of  Ham! " 
She  laughed  a  little  and  looked  at  him  lovingly. 

"There's  no  fear  of  that,"  he  said.  "But  he's 
always  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I  know  what 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  9 

he'd  suffer  for  those  two  or  three  days,  though  you 
can't  understand  it,  I  suppose.  I  don't  want  him 
to  suffer  on  my  account." 

"Oh,  very  well.  It  seemed  simpler,  that's  all. 
I  dislike  Walter  Crowdie  so  —  I  can't  tell  you !  I 
thought  of  going  to  your  house.  I  suppose  you 
thought  of  it,  too  —  but,  of  course,  it  wouldn't  do 
at  all."  She  laughed  again,  a  little  nervously  this 
time. 

"It's  not  to  be  thought  of,"  answered  Ralston, 
gravely. 

"Then  there's  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to  the 
Crowdies'.  Will  you  take  me  down  there?  I've 
ordered  the  carriage,  and  I  suppose  it's  ready  by 
this  time.  There  can't  be  any  harm  in  our  driving 
down  together,  can  there?" 

"Oh,  no  — I  should  think  not.  We'll  pull  the 
shades  half  down.  Is  it  one  of  uncle  Robert's 
carriages?" 

"No  —  I  sent  to  the  livery  stable.  The  men 
have  no  mourning  coats  —  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  odd  if  the  carriage  were  seen  driving  about  as 
though  nothing  had  happened." 

Ralston  could  not  help  contrasting  the  tactful 
foresight  of  this  proceeding  with  Katharine's  readi 
ness  to  inflict  any  amount  of  pain  upon  Hamilton 
Bright.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  could  see  her 
alone  more  easily  at  the  Brights'  than  at  the 
Crowdies',  but  his  own  consideration  for  his  friend 


10  THE  RALSTONS. 

altogether  outweighed  the  thought.  Katharine 
saw  that  it  did.  She  returned  to  the  discussion 
when  they  were  in  the  carriage. 

"I  should  have  thought  you'd  prefer  to  see  me 
at  the  Brights',  Jack,"  she  said.  "It  would  be  so 
much  nicer.  Of  course,  at  the  Crowdies'  I  can't 
be  always  sending  Hester  off  whenever  you  come. 
How  strange  you  are  sometimes !  You  don't  seem 
to  see  things  as  I  do." 

"Not  this,  anyway,"  cried  John,  arranging  the 
shades  as  the  carriage  turned  into  Fifth  Avenue. 
"I'm  sorry  for  Ham." 

"I  should  think  you'd  sacrifice  him  a  little  for 
the  sake  of  seeing  me."  Her  tone  showed  that  she 
was  a  little  hurt. 

"Oh  —  of  course!  That  is  —  "  he  interrupted 
himself  —  "that  is,  you  know,  if  it  were  very 
important." 

"But  isn't  it  important  —  as  you  call  it?  I 
wonder  whether  it  means  as  much  to  you  as  it 
does  to  me?  "  She  looked  at  him. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"  Our  meeting  just  as  often  as  we  can,  for  a 
minute,  for  an  hour,  to  be  together  as  long  as 
possible.  You  don't  seem  to  care  as  much  as 
I  do?" 

"  Indeed  I  do ! "  protested  John,  laying  his  hand 
on  hers.  "How  can  you  say  such  a  thing,  dear? 
You  know  how  much  I  care !  " 


THE  EALSTONS.  11 

"  Yes  —  but  I  sometimes  wonder  —  "  She  hesi 
tated.  "  You  don't  think  that  means  that  there  is 
any  difference  in  our  love,  do  you?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  as  though  she  could  not  help  it. 

"Why,  no!  What  difference  should  there  be? 
We  both  care  just  the  same  —  only  each  in  our  own 
way,  I  suppose." 

Ralston's  experience  was  limited,  and  he  was  not 
to  be  blamed  for  being  a  little  obtuse  and  slow  to 
understand.  This  was  a  new  phase,  too,  and  he 
was  ready  to  reproach  himself  with  having  inad 
vertently  been  the  cause  of  it. 

"That's  just  it,"  answered  Katharine.  "You 
say,  each  in  our  own  way  —  it  seems  to  me  that 
there's  only  one  way  —  and  that's  the  very  most 
that  can  be.  That's  what  I  mean,  dear.  There 
mustn't  be  two  ways.  There's  only  one  way  of 
caring." 

"Well  — that's  our  way,  isn't  it?"  asked  Rals 
ton,  watching  her  tenderly. 

"Not  if  it  isn't  just  the  same  for  both  of  us. 
Because  you're  a  man  and  I'm  a  woman  —  that's 
not  a  reason  for  there  being  any  difference  —  I'm 
sure  it  isn't,  Jack !  "  she  added,  earnestly. 

"Of  course  not! "  he  answered,  not  at  all  seeing 
what  else  he  could  say. 

"Yes  —  but  —  "  She  stopped  again  and  looked 
into  his  eyes. 

John  was  not  good  at  phrases.    Under  great  emo- 


12  THE  RAL8TONS. 

tion  he  could  be  eloquent  in  few  words  —  with  the 
short,  burning  syllables,  trembling  like  fire-tongues 
from  a  furnace,  which  break  through  a  man's  outer 
self  now  and  then.  But  at  the  present  moment  he 
felt  no  deep  emotion  —  scarcely  any  emotion  at  all, 
in  fact.  For  months  he  had  been  used  to  the  idea 
that  the  beautiful  young  girl  by  his  side  was  his 
lawful  wife.  For  months  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  short,  half -clandestine  meetings.  The  great 
thing,  his  real  life  with  her,  was  as  far  off  as  ever, 
in  his  heart's  sight,  though  his  reason  told  him 
that  the  long  period  of  probation  was  drawing  to 
a  close.  A  habit  had  formed  itself  in  his  heart  of 
taking  for  granted,  without  words,  that  each  loved 
the  other  truly,  and  that  each  was  waiting  for  the 
other.  He  had  won  her  long  ago.  His  business 
of  late  had  been  to  overcome  circumstances,  and  he 
felt  that  his  actions  might  speak  for  him  now, 
without  language  to  help  them.  Yet  he  felt  sorely 
at  the  present  moment  the  need  of  the  phrase,  and 
the  absence  of  the  heart-beat  that  might  prompt 
it.  He  saw  that  she  missed  it,  but  though  he  loved 
her  so  dearly  he  could  not  force  it  to  come.  She 
should  have  been  thankful  that  he  could  not,  and 
grateful  to  fate  for  his  inexperience. 

It  is  a  long  drive  from  the  corner  of  the  Park  to 
Lafayette  Place,  where  the  Crowdies  lived.  The 
distance  is  fully  two  miles  and  a  half,  and  John 
realized  that  in  the  twenty  minutes  before  him 


THE  RAL8TONS.  13 

there  was  time  for  many  misunderstandings.  With 
his  natural  directness,  he  spoke  out. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  "don't  let's  be  foolish,  and 
quarrel  over  nothings  —  " 

"Quarrel?  With  you  ?  Why —  I'd  rather  die, 
Jack  dear!  It's  not  that.  I  was  only  think 
ing—" 

She  stopped,  evidently  with  no  intention  of  com 
pleting  the  sentence,  which  meant,  doubtless,  a 
great  deal  to  her,  though  it  was  vague  to  him. 
But  he  had  begun  his  explanation,  and  was  not  to 
be  hindered  from  pursuing  it  to  the  end. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  replied,  as  though  setting 
aside  all  her  possible  objections.  "Let's  look  at 
it  sensibly.  It  amounts  to  this.  We  both  love 
each  other  with  all  our  hearts.  You  always  say 
'care  '  instead  of  'love.'  I  suppose  it's  a  euphem 
ism.  But  I  say  it  just  as  it  is.  Do  you  think  we 
should  have  gone  through  all  we  have  for  each 
other  if  we  didn't  love  with  all  our  hearts?  I 
know  we  couldn't.  And  as  for  me,  I'm  perfectly 
sure  I  never  cared  two  straws  for  any  one  else. 
Aren't  you?" 

"  Jack ! "  exclaimed  Katharine,  almost  offended 
at  the  idea. 

"Yes  —  well,"  he  continued,  rapidly,  "it  isn't 
possible  to  say  which  has  done  the  most,  or  said 
the  most,  for  the  other's  sake.  I  think  you've 
done  more  for  me  than  I  have  for  you,  if  you  want 


14  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

to  know  —  but  that's  been  the  result  of  circum 
stances.  You  know  I'd  have  done  anything  under 
the  sun,  at  any  moment,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course  I  do!  Do  you  think  I'd  have  made 
you  marry  me  if  I  hadn't  known  that?" 

"Well  —  that's  all  right.  As  for  saying  things 
—  I've  said  a  great  deal  more  than  you  have. 
I've  told  you  I  love  you  several  hundred  thousand 
times  in  the  last  year  or  two  —  haven't  I?" 

"Yes  —  I've  not  counted."  Katharine  smiled, 
but  Ralston  did  not  see  his  advantage. 

"I  don't  say  that  I've  found  many  new  words  to 
say  it  with,"  he  pursued.  "It  doesn't  always 
seem  to  need  new  words,  and  if  it  did  —  well,  I'm 
not  an  author,  you  know.  I'm  not  Frank  Miner. 
I  can't  go  about  with  a  dictionary  in  my  pocket, 
looking  up  new  suits  of  clothes  for  my  feelings 
every  time  I  want  to  air  them.  And  sometimes 
I've  said  it  to  please  you,  just  because  I  knew 
you  wanted  me  to  say  it  and  would  be  disappointed 
if  I  didn't.  You  see  how  frank  I  am." 

"Yes — you're  very  frank!  "  She  laughed  a  lit 
tle,  but  rather  hardly,  as  though  something  hurt  her, 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  dear,"  he  said, 
quickly.  "You  do  —  I  see  you  do.  It's  just 
because  I  won't  be  misunderstood  that  I'm  talk 
ing  as  I  am.  What  I'm  driving  at  is  this.  It 
isn't  true  that  words  never  mean  anything,  as 
8ome  people  say  —  " 


THE  RALSTONS.  15 

"  Who  says  so?     What  nonsense !  " 

"  Oh  —  people  say  it  —  books  do  —  when  the 
authors  can't  find  the  words  people  really  say 
when  they  mean  things.  But  it's  not  true.  Words 
mean  a  great  deal,  when  they  do  —  when  they  just 
come  because  they  must,  you  know,  in  spite  of 
everything  and  everybody  —  when  they've  strength 
enough  to  force  themselves  out,  instead  of  being 
dragged  out,  like  olives  out  of  a  bottle,  and  pre 
sented  to  you  on  a  plate.  But  when  they're  real, 
they're  very  real,  with  all  of  one,  like  pain  or 
pleasure.  Actions  always  mean  something. 
That's  the  point.  There's  no  possible  mistake 
when  a  man  does  things  that  need  a  lot  of  doing, 
and  don't  come  easily.  Then  you  know  he's  in 
earnest,  if  you'll  only  look  at  what  he  does.  Don't 
you  think  that's  true,  Katharine?" 

"Yes  —  oh,  yes!  That's  true  enough.  But  it 
needn't  prevent  a  man  from  saying  that  he 
cares  —  " 

"  Of  course  not  —  but  if  he  doesn't  happen  to 
want  to  say  it  just  at  that  moment  —  " 

"But  you  should  always  want  to  say  It.  Don't 
you  always  feel  it?"  She  looked  at  him  in  an  odd 
surprise. 

"  Feel  it  —  yes  —  always, "  he  answered,  quickly. 
"  But  I  don't  always  want  to  say  just  what  I  feel. 
Do  you?" 

"No,     But  that's   different.     It   makes   me   so 


16  THE  R ALSTONS. 

happy  when  you  say  it,  as  you  can  say  it  some 
times." 

"  And  don't  you  think  it  makes  me  happy  when 
you  say  it?"  he  retorted.  "And  you  don't  say 
it  half  as  often  as  I  do,  I'm  sure." 

"Don't  I?  But  I  feel  it,  Jack."  Her  eyes 
sought  his,  and  found  them  looking  at  her. 

"  Well  —  then  —  don't  you  understand?  "  he 
asked. 

But  his  voice  was  low,  and  it  hardly  reached  her 
ears  as  the  carriage  rumbled  along,  though  she 
knew  that  his  lips  moved,  and  she  tried  hard  to 
catch  the  sounds.  For  a  few  seconds  longer  they 
looked  into  one  another's  eyes.  Then,  without 
word  or  warning,  lialston  took  his  wife  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  passionately  again  and  again. 

No  one  in  the  street  could  have  seen,  for  the 
shades  were  half  down  and  the  evening  light  was 
waning.  The  sun  had  just  set,  and  the  dark  red 
houses  were  floating  in  the  afterglow,  as  every 
thing  seems  to  float  when  twilight  lifts  reality  from 
the  earth  into  its  dreamland.  And  the  carriage 
rolled  and  rumbled  steadily  along.  But  within  it 
there  was  silence  for  a  while,  as  heart  beat  with 
heart  and  breath  breathed  with  breath. 

"Jack  — let  me  go  to  the  Brights',"  said  Katha 
rine,  suddenly,  after  what  had  seemed  a  very  long 
time. 

Her  voice  was  quite  changed.     It  sounded  so  soft 


THE  RALSTONS.  17 

and  touching  that  Ealston  could  not  resist  it,  being 
taken  unawares. 

"Dear  —  if  you'd  so  much  rather,"  he  answered, 
with  hardly  any  hesitation. 

"  Then  tell  the  coachman,  please, "  she  replied  at 
once,  without  giving  him  time  to  change  his  mind. 

It  was  instinctive,  and  she  could  not  help  it. 
He  yielded  almost  without  reluctance,  and  lower 
ing  the  window  in  the  front  of  the  carriage,  spoke 
to  the  coachman.  Katharine  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"I'm  so  glad  —  oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  cried, 
leaning  far  back  in  her  seat.  "I  couldn't  have 
stood  Crowdie  for  a  whole  evening!  " 

Ralston  said  nothing  in  answer,  for  he  was 
already  repenting  of  his  weakness,  and  the  vision 
of  his  friend's  face  rose  before  him,  with  all  its 
habitual  calm  cheerfulness  suddenly  twisted  out 
of  it. 

"  Thank  you,  dear, "  said  Katharine,  softly  lay 
ing  her  sound  hand  upon  his.  "  That  was  sweet  of 
you.  You  don't  know  how  I  feel  about  it.  And 
you'll  come  in  this  evening,  won't  you?  Then 
perhaps  Ham  will  go  out.  And  Mrs.  Bright 
always  goes  to  bed  early,  so  we  can  have  an  hour 
or  two  all  to  ourselves." 

"  Certainly, "  answered  Ralston,  a  little  absently, 
for  he  was  thinking  more  of  Bright  than  of  him 
self  just  then. 

VOL.    II. 2 


18  THE  RALSTONS. 

Katharine  withdrew  her  hand  from  his,  not 
quickly,  nor  so  that  he  should  think  she  was  hurt 
again  by  his  tone.  And  she  really  suppressed  the 
little  sigh  of  disappointment  which  rose  to  her 
lips. 

They  had  been  already  in  Fourth  Avenue  when 
Ralston  had  given  the  new  direction  to  the  coach 
man,  and  he  had  turned  his  horses  and  was  driv 
ing  back.  The  Brights  lived  in  a  small  but  pretty 
house  in  Park  Avenue,  on  Murray  Hill.  It  was 
some  distance  to  go  back. 

"Jack,"  said  Katharine,  quietly,  "Hamilton 
Bright's  your  friend.  Don't  you  think  you'd  bet 
ter  tell  him  that  we're  married,  and  put  him  out  of 
liis  misery?  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  much 
more  kind?  You  can  trust  him,  can't  you?" 

"Just  as  I'd  trust  myself,"  answered  Ralston, 
without  hesitation.  "It's  for  your  sake,  dear  — 
otherwise,  I  should  have  told  him  long  ago.  But 
you  know  what  most  people  think  of  secret  mar 
riages,  and  Ham's  full  of  queer  prejudices.  Even 
the  West  couldn't  knock  them  out  of  him.  He's 
the  most  terrific  conservative  about  some  things. 
That's  the  reason  why  I  never  thought  of  suggest 
ing  that  I  might  tell  him.  Of  course  —  if  you'd 
rather.  It  would  be  a  blow  to  him,  I  think,  but 
at  the  same  time  it's  much  better  that  he  should 
know,  for  his  own  sake.  Only  —  I'd  rather  not 
tell  him  while  you're  in  the  house." 


THE  RALSTONS.  19 

«  Oh  —  if  it's  going  to  make  any  difference  about 
my  staying  there,  we'd  better  wait,"  answered 
Katharine.  "Of  course  —  I  hadn't  thought  of 
that.  I  suppose  it  would  make  it  all  the  worse, 
just  at  first.  He  wouldn't  like  to  see  me.  But  he 
must  have  known,  long  ago,  that  we  were  engaged, 
and  that  he  had  no  chance." 

"The  one  doesn't  follow  the  other,"  answered 
Ralston.  "  A  man  like  Ham  doesn't  give  up  hope 
until  the  girl  he  loves  is  married  and  done  for." 

"Married  and  done  for!  Jack!  How  you 
talk!" 

"Oh  —  it's  a  way  of  saying  that  she's  out  of 
reach,  that's  all.  I've  heard  you  say  it  lots  of 
times.  No,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  I  think  it  would  be  kinder  to  wait  till  you 
come  away.  But  of  course  I  could  tell  him  any 
day,  down  town." 

"  Do  as  you  think  best,  dear.  Whatever  you  do 
will  be  right.  Only  —  "  She  stopped,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  on  her  right,  away  from  lials- 
ton. 

"Only  what?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  love  me !  "  she  cried,  almost  fiercely,  and 
turning  upon  him  so  quickly  that  she  pressed  her 
injured  right  arm  against  the  side  of  the  carriage. 
"  Only  love  me  as  I  want  to  be  loved  —  as  I  must 
beloved  —  " 

The  passion  in  her  outran  the  pain  of  the  physi- 


20  THE  RALSTONS. 

cal  hurt,  that  crept  after  it  and  reached  her  a 
moment  later,  so  that  she  turned  a  little  pale. 
Jack  did  not  know  of  that,  and  in  his  eyes  the 
pallor  was  of  the  heart,  as  the  voice  was,  and  the 
words.  It  made  her  more  beautiful,  and  made  love 
seem  more  true.  Then  his  own  heart  beat  hard, 
answering  the  call  of  hers,  as  wave  answers  wave, 
and  his  arms  were  around  her  again  in  an  instant. 

But  at  that  moment  the  carriage  stopped  before 
the  Brights'  house.  A  smile  came  into  the  face 
of  both  of  them  as  they  drew  back  from  one  an 
other.  Then  Ralston  opened  the  door  and  got  out. 

It  might  not  have  been  easy  to  explain  to  Mrs. 
Bright  exactly  why  Katharine  had  arrived  unex 
pectedly  with  a  box  and  a  valise  to  stay  three  or 
four  days  with  her,  instead  of  going  to  her  own 
house  at  such  a  time.  She  knew,  of  course,  that 
the  young  girl  had  been  at  Robert  Lauderdale's 
during  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  But  Mrs. 
Bright  wanted  no  explanations,  and  was  overjoyed 
to  have  Katharine  for  any  reason,  or  without  any. 
She  received  her  with  open  arms,  ordered  her 
things  to  be  taken  upstairs,  asked  Ralston  to  stay 
and  have  some  tea,  and  at  once  began  making 
many  enquiries  about  Katharine's  arm.  Ralston 
went  away  immediately,  however.  After  being 
alone  with  Katharine  in  the  carriage,  as  he  had 
been,  he  did  not  care  to  sit  still  and  listen  to  the 
excellent  Mrs.  Bright's  questions. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  21 

"  Thank  you,  dear, "  said  Katharine  again,  in  an 
undertone,  as  he  bade  her  good-bye.  "Come  this 
evening.  May  Jack  come  this  evening,  aunt 
Maggie?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Mrs.  Bright. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  —  whenever  he  likes,"  an 
swered  the  cheerful  lady. 

Mrs.  Bright  was  a  great-granddaughter  of  the 
primeval  Alexander.  Her  mother  had  been  Mar- 
garate  Lauderdale.  By  no  possible  interpretation 
of  the  relationship  was  she  entitled  to  be  consid 
ered  the  aunt  of  any  member  of  the  tribe.  But 
they  one  and  all  called  her  aunt  Maggie.  Even 
the  three  Miss  Miners,  who  were  nieces  of  Mr. 
Bright's  father,  called  her  so,  and  the  custom  had 
become  fixed  and  unchangeable  in  the  course  of 
many  years.  Of  late,  even  grandpapa  Lauder 
dale,  the  philanthropist,  had  fallen  into  the  habit, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  everybody. 

Mrs.  Bright  was  a  huge,  fair,  happy-faced  woman 
with  an  amazingly  kind  heart  and  a  fresh  face, 
peculiar  from  the  apparent  absence  of  eyebrows  — 
which  existed,  indeed,  but  were  almost  white  by 
nature.  She  had  the  busy  manner  peculiar  to  a 
certain  type  of  very  stout  people.  When  she  was 
not  asleep  she  was  doing  good  to  somebody  —  but 
she  slept  a  great  deal.  Her  tastes  were  marvel 
lously  good,  highly  refined,  and  very  fastidious. 
Cleanliness  is  a  virtue  next  to  godliness,  according 
to  the  proverb  —  and  since  a  number  of  persons 


22  THE  RALSTONS. 

have  relegated  godliness  to  the  catalogue  of  obso 
lete  superstitions,  cleanliness  with  them,  at  least, 
should  stand  first  of  all.  But  Mrs.  Bright 's  mania 
was  specklessness  surpassing  all  dreams  of  cleanli 
ness,  as  pure  spring  water  surpasses  soap  as  a 
symbol  of  purity.  She  took  care  to  see  that  her 
house  was  swept,  and  she  garnished  it  herself. 
She  exhaled  a  faint  suggestion  of  sprigs  of 
lavender. 

Hamilton  Bright  inherited  his  fresh  complexion, 
sturdy  build,  and  solid  good  humour  from  her,  but  a 
certain  shyness  and  reserve  which  were  among  his 
characteristics  had  come  to  him  from  his  father. 

To  Katharine's  surprise,  he  was  already  at  home, 
and  came  down  to  see  her  as  soon  as  he  heard  that 
she  was  in  the  house.  He  sat  down  by  the  little 
tea-table  which  stood  between  her  and  his  mother, 
and  he  wondered  inwardly  why  she  had  come.  He 
was  pleased,  however,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
her  coming  crowned  the  day  which  had  brought 
him  such  vast  and  unexpected  good  fortune.  There 
are  men  who  love  with  all  their  hearts  and  who  are 
not  loved  in  return,  nor  have  any  hope  of  such 
love,  whose  greatest  happiness  is  to  see  the  vainly 
worshipped  object  of  their  misplaced  affections 
under  just  such  circumstances.  Bright  was  de 
lighted  that  Katharine  should  be  his  guest  and  his 
mother's  —  she  was  his  guest  first,  in  his  thoughts, 
and  it  gave  him  the  keenest  pleasure  to  see  her 


THE   RALSTONS.  23 

drinking  his  and  his  mother's  tea  out  of  his  and  his 
mother's  old  Dresden  teacups,  just  as  though  it 
were  her  own,  and  thinking  it  just  as  good. 

He  asked  no  questions,  and  he  thought  of  no 
answers  which  she  might  give  if  he  asked  any.  He 
was  simply  pleased,  and  wished  nothing  to  inter 
fere  with  his  satisfaction  as  long  as  it  might  last. 

"It's  awfully  jolly  to  see  you  here,"  he  said, 
after  he  had  looked  at  her  for  nearly  a  minute. 

"Well,  you  can't  be  half  as  pleased  as  I  am," 
she  answered.  "I  was  there  all  last  night,  you 
know,  and  all  to-day.  It's  grim.  I  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer.  And  I  knew  they  didn't  exactly 
expect  me  at  home  —  and  I  didn't  want  to  go  to 
Hester's,  so  I  thought  I'd  drop  down  upon  you 
without  warning,  as  I  knew  you  had  nobody  staying 
with  you.  But  it  was  rather  a  calm  tiling  to  do, 
now  that  I  think  of  it  —  wasn't  it,  aunt  Maggie?" 

Mrs.  Bright  beamed,  smiled,  kissed  her  fingers 
to  the  young  girl,  and  then  did  perfectly  useless 
tilings  with  the  silver  tea-strainer,  rinsing  it  again 
with  boiling  water,  and  touching  it  fastidiously,  as 
though  it  might  possibly  soil  her  immaculate  hands. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

KATHARINE  had  expected  to  spend  a  quiet  even 
ing  with  Ralston.  She  had  counted  upon  Mrs. 
Bright's  sleepiness,  which  was  overpowering  when 
it  suddenly  came  upon  her,  and  upon  Hamilton 
Bright's  tact.  She  thought  that  he  would  very 
probably  go  out  soon  after  dinner  and  not  appear 
again.  But  she  was  very  much  mistaken  in  her 
calculations. 

When  she  came  down  to  dinner  she  found  Bright 
already  in  the  library.  He  was  bending  over  a 
low  table  and  looking  at  a  new  book  when  she 
entered,  and  she  saw  a  broad,  flat  expanse  of  black 
shoulders,  just  surmounted  by  a  round,  flaxen  head. 
As  he  heard  her  step  behind  him  he  straightened 
himself  and  turned  round  to  meet  her.  He  put 
out  his  hand.  She  seemed  a  little  surprised  at 
this,  since  they  had  exchanged  all  the  usual  greet 
ings  when  she  had  come,  but  she  took  it  with  her 
left,  with  an  unconscious  awkwardness  which 
touched  him.  She  laughed  a  little. 

"It's  not  easy  with  my  left,"  she  said.  "It 
doesn't  come  right  —  besides,  we've  shaken  hands 
before." 

24 


THE  RALSTONS.  25 

"  I  know, "  he  answered.  "  But  it  doesn't  do  any 
harm  to  do  it  again,  you  know." 

It  gave  him  pleasure  to  touch  even  the  tips  of 
her  fingers. 

"You  have  a  sort  of  classic  look,"  he  said, 
glancing  at  her  dress.  "Toga  —  you  know  —  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"I  don't  know  how  I'm  dressed,  I'm  sure,"  she 
answered.  "It's  such  a  bore  to  have  one's  arm  in 
a  sling." 

She  wore  black.  Her  left  side  was  fitted  closely 
by  the  soft  material,  and  she  had  a  certain  little 
silver  pin  at  her  throat,  which  had  associations 
for  her.  She  had  worn  it  on  the  morning  of  her 
marriage  with  John  Kalston,  and  seldom  appeared 
without  it,  though  it  was  a  most  insignificant  little 
ornament.  Over  her  right  shoulder  and  arm  she 
had  draped  a  piece  of  black  silk  and  some  lace. 
Mrs.  Bright  had  come  to  her  room  and  arranged 
it  for  her  with  unerring  skill  and  taste.  It  fell 
gracefully  almost  to  her  feet,  whence  Bright's 
remark  about  the  toga. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  rather  worse  than 
a  bore,"  he  said.  "It  must  hurt  all  the  time.  I 
wonder  you  keep  up  at  all.  But  I'm  glad  you've 
come  down  before  my  mother.  I  wanted  to  say 
something  to  you  about  all  that's  happened.  You 
don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"  Why  should  I  mind?  "  asked  Katharine,  smil- 


26  THE  EALSTONS. 

ing  at  the  little  timidity  which  had  checked  him 
with  its  question. 

"  Well  —  you  know  —  it's  about  the  will.  There 
may  be  trouble  about  it.  Your  father  may  wish 
to  break  it  if  he  can.  It's  not  unnatural.  But  of 
course,  if  he  does,  there's  going  to  be  a  most  terrific 
row  all  round.  We  shall  all  be  raging  furiously 
together  like  the  heathen  in  about  a  week,  if  he 
attacks  the  will.  The  Thirty  Years'  War  wouldn't 
be  in  it,  with  the  row  there's  going  to  be." 

"You  take  a  cheerful  view,  cousin  Ham,"  said 
Katharine,  with  a  smile.  "Who's  going  to  fight 
whom?" 

"You  and  I  are  going  to  be  on  opposite  sides," 
answered  Bright,  gravely,  and  fixing  his  clear  blue 
eyes  on  her  face. 

"Well  —  what  difference  does  that  make?"  she 
asked.  "I  mean,  what  personal  difference?  We 
shall  be  just  as  good  friends,  shan't  we?" 

"  Ah  —  that's  it !  Shall  we?  "  He  continued  to 
watch  her  earnestly. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  returning  his  gaze 
quietly.  "What  earthly  difference  can  it  make 
to  me?  Of  course,  I  hope  papa  won't  do  anything 
of  the  kind.  We  shall  all  have  such  heaps  of 
money  that  I  can't  see  why  we  should  fight  about 
a  little,  more  or  less  —  " 

"  XQ  —  but  if  he  breaks  the  will,  my  mother  and 
Hester  and  I  shall  get  nothing  at  all,  and  of  course 


THE  RALSTONS.  27 

I  shall  fight  it  like  anything.  You  understand 
that,  don't  you?  It's  rather  a  big  thing,  you  know 
—  it's  forty  millions  or  nothing,  because  we're  not 
next  of  kin.  You'll  understand  why  I  shall  fight 
it,  won't  you?" 

He  asked  the  last  question  very  anxiously,  and 
in  his  broad  face  there  was  a  curious  struggle 
between  the  fighting  instinct,  expressed  in  the  set 
ting  of  the  firm  jaw,  and  the  painful  fear  of  being 
misunderstood,  which  showed  itself  in  the  entreat 
ing  glance  of  the  eyes. 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  answered  Katharine. 
"It's  your  duty  to  fight  it  —  of  course." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  he 
said.  "Because  if  you  didn't  —  "  He  paused  in 
the  middle  of  the  sentence. 

"If  I  didn't,  I  should  be  very  stupid,"  observed 
Katharine. 

"No,  no!  I  mean  —  if  I  thought  you  couldn't 
understand  it  —  well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  wouldn't 
pretty  nearly  let  the  millions  go,  rather  than 
displease  you ! " 

He  blurted  out  the  last  words  bluntly,  as  such 
men  say  wild  but  sincerely  meant  things.  Katha 
rine  understood. 

"Please  don't  say  such  foolish  things,  cousin 
Ham.  You  know  it's  perfectly  absurd  to  talk  of 
sacrificing  a  fortune  in  that  way.  Besides,  you'd 
have  no  right  not  to  fight  your  best.  Two-thirds 


28  THE  E ALSTONS. 

of  what  you '  11  get  will  go  to  your  mother  and 
sister.  You  haven't  the  slightest  right  even  to 
think  of  the  possibility  of  sacrificing  aunt  Maggie 
and  Hester." 

"No.  I  suppose  I've  not.  And  I  know  that  it 
isn't  as  though  you  weren't  to  have  a  big  fortune 
anyway,  however  it  turns  out.  Perhaps  I'm  a 
fool,  but  I  simply  can't  bear  to  think  of  being 
opposed  to  you  in  anything.  That's  the  plain  fact, 
in  two  words." 

Katharine  heard  a  sort  of  unsteadiness  in  the 
tone,  and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"Thank  you,  cousin  Ham,"  she  said.  "You're 
a  good  friend.  Thank  you."  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  for  an  instant. 

"That's  better  than  millions,"  answered  Bright, 
in  an  undertone,  for  his  mother  was  just  entering 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Bright  might  well  be  pardoned  if  she  did 
not  assume  a  lugubrious  and  funereal  expression 
that  evening.  To  her,  Robert  Lauderdale  had  been 
a  distant  relation  of  enormous  wealth,  from  whom 
she  had  little  or  nothing  to  expect,  and  whom  she 
rarely  saw.  She  had  never  needed  his  help,  and 
though  he  had  occasionally  remembered  her  and 
sent  her  a  jewel  at  Christmas,  neither  she  nor  her 
son  had  ever  felt  very  much  indebted  to  him.  The 
surprise  was  therefore  overwhelming,  and  the  re 
joicing  inevitable  and  natural.  Knowing,  how- 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  29 

ever,  how  dearly  the  old  man  had  loved  Katharine, 
and  that  she  had  been  with  him  at  the  time  of  his 
death  and  had  been  really  fond  of  him,  Mrs.  Bright 
avoided  the  subject  altogether  during  dinner.  It 
would  not  keep  out  of  her  face,  however,  nor  out 
of  her  manner.  Once  or  twice  she  and  her  son 
exchanged  glances,  and  both  suppressed  a  happy 
smile.  Katharine  saw,  understood,  and  felt  sad. 
The  conversation  turned  upon  generalities  and  was 
not  very  amusing. 

Katharine  could  not  help  thinking  of  what 
Bright  had  said  to  her  just  before  dinner.  At 
the  moment,  he  had  undoubtedly  meant  that  he 
would  sacrifice  the  vast  inheritance  rather  than 
incur  her  momentary  displeasure.  Of  course,  she 
said  to  herself,  when  the  case  arose  he  would  not 
really  have  done  so,  but  she  could  not  but  appre 
ciate  the  reckless  generosity  of  the  thought,  and 
wonder  at  the  possible  strength  of  the  love  that 
had  prompted  it.  He  had  spoken  so  earnestly  and 
there  had  been  such  a  perceptible  tremor  in  his 
voice,  that  she  had  been  glad  when  Mrs.  Bright 's 
appearance  had  cut  short  the  interview.  While 
she  talked  indifferently  during  dinner,  her  thoughts 
dwelt  on  what  Ralston  had  said  about  Bright's 
feelings  and  then  went  back  to  Kalston  himself, 
who  was  almost  always  present  in  her  reflections. 
She  felt  that  she  should  not  have  felt  any  surprise 
if  he  had  spoken  as  Bright  had  done.  It  would 


30  THE   RALSTONS. 

have  been  quite  natural.  She  might  even  have 
thought  of  accepting  the  sacrifice. 

Just  then,  after  a  little  pause  in  the  conversation, 
Mrs.  Bright  suddenly  asked  her  son  whether  he 
meant  to  go  out  in  the  evening. 

"No,"  he  answered,  promptly.  "Not  to-night. 
I  wouldn't  go  anywhere  except  to  the  club,  and 
even  there  —  well,  everybody  would  be  talking  and 
asking  questions,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Besides," 
he  added,  "cousin  Katharine's  here." 

The  change  of  tone  as  he  spoke  of  Katharine  was 
so  apparent  that  Mrs.  Bright  smiled  a  little  sadly. 
Her  woman's  instinct  had  told  her  long  ago  that 
her  son  had  very  little  chance. 

The  three  had  not  been  long  in  the  library  when 
a  servant  brought  a  card  to  Mrs.  Bright.  She 
glanced  at  it,  somewhat  surprised  by  the  coming 
of  an  unexpected  visitor,  in  these  days  when  even 
ing  visits  have  disappeared  from  New  York's 
changeable  civilization. 

"It's  Archie  Wingfield,"  she  said.  "Funny!" 
she  exclaimed.  "Show  Mr.  Wingfield  in,"  she 
said  to  the  servant. 

A  moment  later  Archibald  Wingfield  entered  the 
room.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  paused  a  moment  as 
he  caught  sight  of  Katharine. 

"  Oh !  "  he  ejaculated,  awkwardly,  in  a  low  voice. 

Then  he  came  forward,  resolutely  keeping  his 
Bold  black  eyes  on  Mrs.  Bright's  face  as  he  went 


THE  EALSTONS.  31 

up  to  her  and  shook  hands.  Katharine  had  under 
stood  the  exclamation  of  astonishment,  and  felt 
the  awkwardness  of  the  situation.  But  as  she 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing  Ealston  alone  that 
evening,  she  thought  it  was  as  well,  on  the  whole, 
that  some  one  else  should  have  come  to  help  the 
general  conversation.  Nevertheless,  she  would 
have  chosen  almost  any  one  rather  than  her  last 
rejected  suitor. 

Both  she  and  Hamilton  Bright  watched  the 
young  fellow  with  involuntary  admiration  as  he 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  exchanging  first  words 
with  Mrs.  Bright.  There  is  a  fascination  about 
physical  superiority  when  it  far  outdoes  all  its 
surroundings  and  is  altogether  beyond  competi 
tion  which,  perhaps,  no  other  attraction  exercises 
in  the  same  degree  at  first  sight. 

Wingfield  came  to  Katharine  next.  The  rich 
blood  rose  in  his  brown  cheeks. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  here,"  he  said,  simply. 

"Excuse  my  left  hand,"  she  answered,  quietly, 
as  she  extended  it.  "I've  had  a  little  accident." 

Wingfield  started  perceptibly.  The  expression 
in  his  black  eyes  changed  to  one  of  the  deepest 
anxiety,  and  the  blush  slowly  ebbed  from  his 
face. 

"An  accident?"  he  stammered. 

"Oh  —  nothing  serious,"  she  answered,  touched 
by  the  evident  strength  of  his  feeling.  "It's  only 


32  THE  RALSTONS. 

the  small  bone  of  my  right  arm.  I  fell  down  yes 
terday  and  broke  it.  It's  in  splints,  of  course,  so 
I  have  to  use  my  left." 

"And  you're  —  you're  not  taking  care  of  your 
self?  With  a  broken  arm?"  He  seemed  amazed, 
not  having  had  much  experience  of  broken  limbs 

—  his  own  were  solid.     "But  you  ought  to  be  at 
home  —  " 

Katharine  laughed  a  little. 

"I'm  staying  here  with  aunt  Maggie,"  she  an 
swered.  "  I  could  scarcely  have  any  better  care, 
could  I?" 

"Oh  —  I  see.  Yes."  But  he  did  not  seem 
satisfied. 

He  turned  to  Bright,  shook  hands,  and  then  sat 
down. 

"  You  must  think  it  awfully  funny  —  my  drop 
ping  in,  in  this  way,"  he  said,  recovering  the  self- 
possession  which  naturally  belonged  to  his  charac 
ter.  "  The  fact  is,  I  was  going  to  dine  out,  and  at 
the  last  minute  the  people  sent  to  tell  me  not  to 
come,  because  they've  had  a  little  fire  in  the 
dining-room,  and  everything's  flooded  and  uncom 
fortable,  and  they  were  going  to  picnic  somewhere 

—  or  something.     So  I  dined  at  the  club,  and  I'm 
going  to  see  the  last  act  of  that   play  with  the 
horses  in  it,  you  know  —  so  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
mind  if  I  asked  leave  to  spend  half  an  hour  with 
you  on  the  way." 


THE  RALSTONS.  33 

"Why,  of  course  not!"  cried  Mrs.  Bright. 
"I'm  delighted.  You  must  help  us  to  amuse 
Katharine.  She's  rather  gloomy,  poor  child  — 
with  her  arm,  and  all  she's  been  through.  She 
was  staying  with  poor  Mr.  Lauderdale  when  he 
died  so  suddenly." 

"Yes  —  it's  awfully  sad,"  answered  Wingfield, 
with  appropriate  solemnity,  and  wondering 
whether  he  should  congratulate  the  Brights  upon 
the  inheritance.  "As  for  amusing  Miss  Lauder 
dale,"  he  continued,  "I  wish  I  could.  But  I'm 
not  a  very  amusing  person  —  not  a  bit." 

"Perhaps  we  can  amuse  you,  instead,"  sug 
gested  Katharine,  by  way  of  saying  something. 

"  Oh,  no  —  thanks  —  you're  very  kind, "  answered 
the  young  man,  confusedly.  "You  know  my 
brothers  always  call  me  the  family  idiot.  They're 
always  chaffing  me  because  I  don't  know  languages 
and  things.  I  say,  Bright  —  you're  clever  —  do 
you  know  a  lot  of  languages  ?  " 

"I?  No,  indeed!"  answered  Bright,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  I  don't  know  anything  particular 

—  except  about  cattle  and  horses,  and  something 
about   banking.      I've   had   a   modern   education! 
How  should  I  know  anything?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all  —  I  mean  —  I  beg  your  pardon 

—  but  what  a  thing  to  say !  " 

"It's  mere  nonsense,"  observed  Mrs.  Bright. 
"Ham  knows  everything  in  a  useful  way.  But 

VOL.    II. 3 


34  THE  BALSTONS. 

he's  always  railing  at  modern  education,  and  tell 
ing  me  that  it's  ruined  his  mind.  He's  not  sensi 
ble  about  that.  Really  you're  not,  Ham,"  she 
added,  with  emphasis. 

"Education's  meant  for  the  common  herd, 
mother,"  answered  Bright.  "Fools  are  better 
without  it,  bankers  don't  need  it,  and  geniuses  can 
do  better." 

"That's  rather  good,"  said  Katharine,  thought 
fully.  "  With  which  do  you  class  yourself?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well  —  being  neither  a  genius  nor  a  fool,  I 
have  to  be  content  with  being  a  banker." 

"  I  say  —  are  lawyers  part  of  the  common  herd, 
Bright?  "  enquired  Wingfield. 

"Not  if  you're  going  to  be  one,  my  dear  boy," 
answered  the  elder  man.  "  But  I  hope  you're  not 
going  to  nail  me  out  on  my  statement  like  an  owl 
over  a  stable  door.  It's  not  kind.  It's  much 
nicer  to  be  misunderstood  in  a  friendly  way  than  to 
have  all  one's  friends  up  on  their  hind  legs  trying 
to  understand  one,  when  one  hasn't  meant  any 
thing  particular.  By  Jove!  There  goes  the  bell 
again!  I  wonder  who  it  is?" 

"What  ears  you  have!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bright. 
"I  didn't  hear  anything.  But  it  must  be  Jack 
Ralston.  He'd  come  early,  you  know." 

Katharine  glanced  surreptitiously  at  the  two 
men,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  half-closed 


THE  RALSTONS.  35 

eyes.  Bright's  expression  became  a  little  more 
set,  and  he  moved  one  foot  uneasily.  Wingfield 
looked  at  Mrs.  Bright  as  she  spoke,  and  then 
straight  at  Katharine.  Ralston  entered  in  a  dead 
silence,  glanced  quickly  at  Wingfield,  greeted 
every  one  in  turn,  in  the  quiet,  easy  way  peculiar 
to  him,  which  was  quite  different  from  Bright's 
slow  and  rather  heavy  manner,  and  from  Archi 
bald  Wingfield's  physical  style,  so  to  say,  which 
showed  itself  in  long,  swift,  powerful  movements, 
like  the  great  stride  of  a  magnificent  hunter  going 
along  in  the  open. 

"You'll  be  tired  of  the  sight  of  me  to-day," 
said  Ralston,  smiling  as  he  sat  down  near  Mrs. 
Bright. 

"No  fear  of  that,  Jack,"  answered  Bright,  anx 
ious  to  show  Katharine  that  he  was  not  displeased 
at  Ralston's  coming.  "My  mother  always  looks 
upon  you  as  a  sort  of  second  son." 

"The  prodigal  son,"  suggested  John. 

"  Is  that  a  hint  to  produce  the  fatted  calf? " 
asked  Bright.  "  Or  have  you  dined?  You  don't 
look  as  though  you  had." 

"Why?  What's  the  matter  with  me?  I've  just 
come  from  dinner.  I  dined  at  home  with  my 
mother." 

"You're  rather  lean  for  a  man  who  dines  every 
day,"  laughed  Bright.  "That's  all.  I  believe 
you  starve  in  secret.  You're  afraid  of  getting  fat, 


36  THE  RALSTONS. 

Jack —  that's  the  truth.  Confess  it!  You  think 
it  wouldn't  be  romantic." 

"I  wish  you  would  get  a  little  fatter,  Jack,"  said 
Katharine.  "You'd  be  much  nicer,  I'm  sure." 

The  remark  might  have  been  natural  enough 
between  two  cousins,  both  young.  But  there  was 
a  subtle  suggestion  of  proprietorship,  or  at  least  of 
belonging  to  one  another,  in  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
which  jarred  on  Wingfield's  ear.  He  was  by  no 
means  dull  nor  slow  of  perception,  in  spite  of  what 
he  had  said  of  himself.  As  an  athlete,  however, 
he  took  up  the  question. 

"  You'd  be  stronger  if  you  were  a  little  heavier, 
Ralston,"  he  said.  "Do  you  go  in  for  oatmeal 
when  you  train?" 

"  Oh  —  I  haven't  trained  since  I  was  at  college. 
I  never  bothered  much.  But  I  don't  like  stodgy 
things  like  porridge.  I  was  a  running  man,  you 
know.  I  don't  believe  it  makes  a  particle  of  differ 
ence  what  one  eats." 

"  Oh,  I  do !  "  Katharine  exclaimed,  anxious  to 
make  the  conversation  move.  "  I  like  some  things 
and  I  don't  like  others." 

"What,  for  instance?"  asked  Bright.  "What 
do  you  like  best  to  eat  —  and  then  afterwards,  what 
other  things  do  you  like  best  in  the  world?  That's 
interesting.  If  you'll  tell  us,  we'll  get  them  for 
you  right  off." 

"I  should  think  you  could,  between  you,"  said 


THE  EALSTONS.  37 

Mrs.  Bright,  glancing  round  at  the  three  goodly 
men,  and  wondering  whether  Wingfield  was  as 
much  in  love  with  Katharine  as  the  other  two. 

"What  I  like?  —  let  me  see,"  said  Katharine. 
"  I  like  simple  things  to  eat.  I  hate  peppermints, 
for  instance.  My  mother  lives  on  them.  I  like 
plain  things,  generally  —  fish  and  game.  Truffles 
—  that's  another  thing  I  detest.  Aunt  Maggie 
never  can  understand  why.  She  says  there's  some 
thing  mysterious  in  a  truffle,  that  appeals  to  her." 

"They're  so  good!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bright. 
"Big  black  ones  in  a  napkin  with  fresh  butter. 
But  it's  quite  true.  There's  a  sort  of  mystery  in 
a  truffle.  It's  like  love,  you  know." 

Everybody  laughed  at  what  seemed  the  fantastic 
irrelevancy  of  the  comparison  —  Bright  laughing 
louder  than  the  rest. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  he  asked.  "It 
would  be  rather  a  grimy,  earthy  sort  of  love,  I 
should  think." 

"  Explain,  aunt  Maggie !  "  laughed  Katharine. 

"A  truffle's  a  cryptogam,"  said  Bright.  "No 
body  has  ever  explained  about  cryptogams." 

"What  is  a  cryptogam?"  asked  Katharine. 
"I've  always  wanted  to  know." 

"Cryptogam  means  secret  marriage,  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort, "  said  Wingfield. 

Katharine  started  a  little  and  glanced  at  John 
Ralston. 


38  THE  RALSTONS. 

"Yes,"  said  the  latter.  "It's  equivalent  to  say 
ing  that  nobody  knows  how  they  grow.  But  that 
doesn't  at  all  explain  what  aunt  Maggie  means 
by  what  she  said.  Come,  aunt  Maggie,  we're  all 
waiting  for  you  to  tell  us." 

"  Oh  —  I'm  getting  so  sleepy,  my  dears,  don't 
ask  me  to  explain  things !  You  know  I'm  always 
sleepy  in  the  evening.  It's  taking  an  unfair  ad 
vantage  of  me!  Why  is  love  like  a  truffle?  Why, 
exactly  for  that  reason  —  because  nobody  can  pos 
sibly  tell  when  it  begins,  or  how,  or  why  —  or  any 
thing  about  it.  Only,  when  you  find  it,  you've 
found  something  worth  having.  As  for  secret  mar 
riages  —  wasn't  it  you  who  mentioned  them  just 
now,  Mr.  Wingfield?  Yes  —  well,  they're  very 
romantic  and  unpractical  and  pretty,  but  I  should 
think  the  people  would  find  it  a  great  nuisance. 
It's  much  better  to  run  away,  and  be  done  with  it." 

Ralston's  eyes  met  Katharine's,  and  he  sup 
pressed  a  smile,  but  in  her  pale  face  the  colour 
was  rising  slowly.  Again  the  door  opened,  and 
two  men  entered  the  room  unannounced.  The 
servant  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  as  two  visit 
ors  had  been  admitted,  he  might  admit  as  many 
more  as  came.  Paul  Griggs,  the  author,  and  Wal 
ter  Crowd ie,  the  artist,  came  forward  into  the 
bright  light.  Crowdie  has  been  already  described. 
Griggs  was  a  lean,  strong,  grey-haired,  plain- 
featured  man  of  fifty,  a  gaunt,  bony,  weather- 


THE  RALSTONS.  39 

beaten  man,  who  had  lived  in  many  countries  and 
had  seen  many  interesting  sights  —  but  none  so 
interesting,  people  had  been  saying  lately,  as  Kath 
arine  Lauderdale's  face.  It  was  commonly  said 
that  he  was  in  love  with  the  girl,  and  people  added 
that  at  his  age  it  was  ridiculous,  and  that  he  was 
making  a  fool  of  himself. 

Crowdie,  as  the  son-in-law  of  the  house,  and 
one  of  the  numerous  persons  who  called  Mrs. 
Bright  'aunt/  came  forward  first,  to  shake  hands 
and  explain  the  visit. 

"  I  was  going  to  make  an  apology  for  coming  in 
without  warning,  aunt  Maggie, "he  said.  "Griggs 
dined  with  us,  and  we're  going  to  see  the  last  act 
of  that  play  with  the  horses  in  it  —  you  know  — 
and  as  it's  too  early,  we  thought  we'd  ring  the  bell 
and  call.  But  as  you've  got  a  party,  I  suppose 
you  accept  the  apology.  At  least,  I  hope  you 
will." 

"  You're  very  welcome,  Walter  —  glad  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Griggs."  Mrs.  Bright  beamed.  "It  is 
a  party  —  isn't  it?  Why,  there  are  five  men  in 
the  room.  Let's  all  go  and  see  the  last  act  of  the 
play  with  the  horses,  and  come  back  to  supper! 
Oh  —  I  forgot  —  and  Katharine,  too,  with  her 
broken  arm.  But  Mr.  Wingfield's  going  to  it  by 
and  by." 

"Yes,"  said  Wingfield.  "I'm  going.  We'll 
walk  up  together." 


40  THE  R ALSTONS. 

Both  Griggs  and  Crowdie  had  already  heard  of 
Katharine's  accident  and  were  asking  her  about  it, 
before  Mrs.  Bright  had  finished  speaking.  Pres 
ently  the  new-comers  got  seats,  and  the  circle 
widened  to  admit  them  as  they  sat  clown. 

"I'm  sure  we  interrupted  some  delightful  con 
versation,"  said  Griggs,  breaking  the  momentary 
silence.  "Won't  you  go  on?" 

"My  mother  was  explaining  her  views  upon 
secret  marriages,"  said  Bright.  "She'd  just  been 
comparing  love  to  a  truffle." 

"  Truffle  —  cryptogam  —  secret  marriage  —  love," 
said  Griggs,  gravely.  "Very  natural  sequence  of 
ideas.  The  interesting  link  is  the  secret  marriage." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  assented  young  Wingfield. 
"What  do  you  think  about  it,  Mr.  Griggs?  " 

"What  were  you  saying  about  it?"  asked  the 
man  of  letters,  cautiously. 

"No  —  what  do  you  think  about  it?"  insisted 
Mrs.  Bright.  "  We  hadn't  said  anything  especial." 

"Is  anybody  present  secretly  married?"  en 
quired  Griggs,  with  a  pleasant  laugh.  "No  — 
exactly  —  then  I  shouldn't  advise  any  of  you  to  try 
it.  I  did  once  —  " 

"  You ! "  exclaimed  two  or  three  voices  at  once, 
and  in  surprise. 

"Yes  —  on  paper,  in  a  book,  with  my  paper 
dolls.  I  never  want  to  do  it  again.  It  had  awful 
consequences." 


THE  EALSTONS.  41 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mrs.  Bright. 

"Oh  —  nothing!  I  fell  in  love  with  the  heroine 
myself  from  writing  about  her,  killed  the  hero  out 
of  jealousy,  and  blew  out  my  brains  in  the  end 
because  she  wouldn't  have  me.  I  suppose  it  was 
natural,  considering  what  I'd  done,  but  I  took  my 
revenge.  I  put  her  into  a  convent  of  Carmelite 
nuns.  It  was  so  awkward  afterwards.  I  wanted 
her  in  another  book  —  because  I  was  in  love  with 
her  —  but  as  she  was  a  Carmelite,  she  couldn't  get 
out  respectably,  so  she's  there  still.  It's  an  awful 
bore." 

Even  Katharine,  who  had  felt  the  blood  rising 
again  in  her  cheeks,  laughed  at  the  simple,  natural 
regret  expressed  in  Griggs'  face  as  he  spoke. 

"Yes,"  said  Bright.  "That's  all  very  well  in  a 
novel.  But  in  real  life  it's  quite  different.  I 
think  a  man  who  does  that  kind  of  tiling  is  a  cad, 
myself." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Archibald  Wingfield,  impetu 
ously.  "A  howling  cad,  you  know." 

"It's  an  unnecessary  piece  of  presumption  to 
suppose  that  the  world  cares  what  one  does,"  said 
Crowdie,  who  had  not  spoken  yet.  "  And  it  com 
plicates  things  abominably  to  be  married  and  not 
married  at  the  same  time.  Shouldn't  you  think 
so,  Miss  Lauderdale?  "  he  asked,  turning  his  head 
towards  Katharine  as  he  spoke. 

"I?     Oh  —  I've  no  opinion  in  the  matter,"  an- 


42  THE  EALSTONS. 

swered  Katharine,  looking  away,  and  feeling  very 
uncomfortable. 

"I  don't  agree  with  either  of  you,"  said  Ralston, 
slowly.  "It  depends  entirely  on  circumstances. 
There  are  cases  where  it's  the  only  thing  to  do,  if 
people  really  love  each  other.  I  don't  think  any 
one  has  a  right  to  say  that  a  man's  a  cad  simply 
because  he's  married  his  wife  secretly.  A  man's 
a  much  worse  cad  who  marries  a  girl  for  her  money, 
and  doesn't  care  for  her,  than  any  man  who  gets 
secretly  married  for  real  love  —  and  you  all  know 
it." 

Ralston  could  not  help  speaking  rather  aggres 
sively. 

"  Look  out  for  the  family  temper ! "  laughed 
Walter  Crowdie,  in  his  exquisitely  musical 
voice. 

"We're  all  more  or  less  of  the  family  here," 
answered  Ralston,  "except  Mr.  Griggs  and  Wing- 
held.  Not  that  we're  likely  to  get  angry  about 
such  a  question,"  he  added,  with  an  attempt  at 
indifference.  "What  I  say  is  that  it's  a  monstrous 
injustice  to  call  a  man  a  cad  on  such  grounds." 

"  Oh  —  all  right,  Jack !  "  cried  Bright.  "  If  ever 
you  get  secretly  married,  we  won't  say  you're  a 
cad.  But  in  most  cases  —  well,  I'd  rather  hear 
Griggs  talk  about  it  than  talk  myself.  He's  an 
expert  in  love  affairs  —  on  paper,  as  he  says.  Say 
what  you  really  think,  Griggs.  Wingfield  and  I 


THE  RALSTONS.  43 

can  hold  Ralston  between  us  if  he  shows  signs  of 
being  dangerous." 

"I  think  I  could  help  myself,  in  a  modest  way," 
said  Mr.  Griggs,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  I  used  to 
be  pretty  strong  once." 

He  made  the  remark  merely  in  the  hope  of  turn 
ing  the  conversation.  Wingfield,  as  an  athlete 
and  a  young  Hercules,  could  not  hear  any  allusion 
made  to  physical  strength  without  taking  it  up  and 
discussing  it. 

"Were  you  a  boating  man,  Mr.  Griggs?"  he 
enquired,  with  sudden  interest. 

"No.     I  never  pulled  in  a  race." 

"  I  suppose  you  went  in  for  long  distance  run 
ning,  then.  You're  made  for  it,"  he  added, 
rather  patronizingly  and  glancing  at  the  man's 
sinewy  figure. 

"No.  I  never  ran  in  a  race,"  answered  the  lit 
erary  man. 

"Oh  —  I  supposed,  when  you  spoke,  that  you'd 
gone  in  for  athletics  —  formerly, "  said  Wingfield, 
disappointed. 

"No  —  I  wasn't  educated  in  places  where  athlet 
ics  were  the  fashion  at  that  time.  I  was  strong  — 
that's  all.  I  could  do  things  with  my  hands  that 
other  people  couldn't." 

"Could  you?"  Katharine  saw  that  the  original 
subject  was  dropping,  and  encouraged  the  dull  con 
versation  which  had  taken  its  place.  "What 


44  THE  EALSTONS. 

could  you  do  with  your  hands?"  she  asked,  with 
an  air  of  interest.  "They  look  strong.  Could 
you  roll  up  silver  plates  into  holders  for  bouquets, 
like  Count  Orloff?" 

"  I  think  I  could  do  it,"  Griggs  answered,  quietly. 
"  But  nobody  ever  wanted  to  waste  a  silver  plate 
on  me." 

"It's  not  easy,  I  should  think,"  said  young 
Wingfield.  "  I  know  I  couldn't  do  it." 

"I'm  sure  you  could,"  said  Katharine,  turning 
to  him.  "You  must  be  tremendously  strong.  But 
can't  you  do  something  else  with  your  hands,  Mr. 
Griggs?  I  like  to  see  those  things.  They  amuse 
me." 

Griggs  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  wish 
to  show  off  his  qualities,  physical  or  mental,  but 
on  the  present  occasion  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation.  He  never  knew  afterwards  why  he 
had  yielded,  and  attributed  his  weakness  to  the 
inborn  desire  to  excel  in  the  eyes  of  women,  which 
is  in  every  man. 

"Have  you  a  pack  of  cards?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  Bright.  "  If  you  have,  I'll  show  you  something 
that  may  amuse  you." 

Bright  was  a  whist  player,  and  immediately 
brought  a  pack  from  a  remote  corner  of  the  room 
and  put  it  into  Griggs'  hands. 

"Now  —  there's  no  deception,  as  the  conjurers 
say,"  he  began,  with  a  laugh,  looking  first  at 


THE  EALSTONS.  45 

Katharine,  and  then  at  Wingfield,  as  the  strong 
man  of  the  party.  "Perhaps  you  can  do  it,  Mr. 
Wingfield?"  he  added. 

"What?  Tricks  with  cards?  No  — I'm  not 
good  at  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Well  —  it  isn't  exactly  a  trick.  I'm  going  to 
tear  the  pack  in  two.  Did  you  ever  see  it  done?" 

"  No, "  answered  Wingfield,  incredulously.  "  I've 
heard  of  it  —  but  I  don't  believe  it's  possible,  if 
you  tear  it  fairly." 

"  Is  this  fair?     Have  I  got  a  fair  hold  on  them?  " 

"Yes  —  that's  all  right.  I  don't  believe  any 
body  can  do  it  that  way." 

"Well  — look." 

Griggs  set  his  teeth  a  little  as  he  made  the 
effort,  and  the  furrows  in  the  weather-beaten  face 
deepened  a  little,  but  that  was  all.  The  sinews 
stood  out  on  the  backs  of  his  hands  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  his  hands  moved,  the  one  downwards, 
the  other  up.  The  pack  was  torn  clean  in  two. 

"  By  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Bright.  "  I  never  saw 
that  done." 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,"  said  Wingfield. 
"I've  often  tried.  It's  perfectly  magnificent!  " 

"I'll  avoid  you  in  a  fight,"  observed  Kalston, 
laughing. 

Crowdie  had  looked  on  with  curiosity,  but  he 
had  watched  Griggs'  face  rather  than  his  hands, 
comparing  it  with  a  picture  of  Samson  pulling 


46  THE  R ALSTONS. 

down  the  pillars,  which  rose  in  his  memory.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  man  who  had 
painted  the  picture  had  never  seen  a  great  feat 
of  strength. 

"It  looks  so  easy,"  said  Katharine.  "But  it 
must  be  awfully  hard." 

"  There's  a  good  story  the  peasants  tell  in  Kussia 
about  Peter  the  Great,"  said  Griggs.  "He  was 
hunting.  His  horse  lost  a  shoe,  and  he  stopped  at 
a  wayside  smith's.  The  smith  made  a  shoe  while 
Peter  waited.  Peter  took  it,  tried  it  in  his  hands, 
broke  it  and  threw  it  into  a  corner,  saying  it  was 
bad.  The  smith  made  another,  and  the  Czar  broke 
it  again,  and  so  on.  But  he  could  not  break  the 
tenth.  The  blacksmith  asked  a  rouble  for  the 
shoe.  Peter  gave  him  one.  He  broke  it  in  two 
and  threw  it  into  a  corner,  saying  it  was  bad  — 
and  so  he  broke  as  many  roubles  as  the  Czar  had 
broken  shoes,  and  said  that  the  tenth  was  good. 
Peter  was  so  much  pleased  that  he  made  the  man 
a  general  —  or  something." 

"I  suppose  you  could  do  that,  too,  couldn't 
you?  "  asked  Katharine,  looking  at  the  gaunt,  grey 
man  with  a  strong  admiration. 

"Oh,  yes  —  I've  done  it.  But  it's  a  strange 
thing,  isn't  it,  when  you  think  that  it's  all  an 
illusion?" 

"An  illusion!"  cried  Wingfield,  in  disappoint 
ment.  "What  do  you  mean?  It  isn't  a  trick, 
surely!" 


THE  EALSTONS.  47 

"Oh,  no!  I  don't  mean  that.  But  all  matter  is 
an  illusion,  isn't  it?  Nothing's  real  that  isn't 
permanent." 

"But  if  matter  isn't  permanent,  what  is? "  asked 
Bright.  "But  I  know  —  you  have  the  most  ex 
traordinary  ideas  about  those  things." 

"I  don't  think  they're  extraordinary.  If  matter 
were  permanent  in  the  sense  you  mean,  then  life 
would  be  permanent  in  the  same  sense,  because 
we're  matter,  and  we  shouldn't  die." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

YOUNG  Wingfield  looked  at  Katharine  with  an 
air  of  entreaty,  as  though  hoping  that  she,  at 
least,  might  understand  what  Mr.  Griggs  meant. 
She  smiled  as  she  saw  his  expression,  and  under 
stood  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  She  was 
supposed  to  have  seen  far  more  of  Griggs  during 
the  preceding  month  than  she  really  had,  and  she 
got  credit  for  comprehending,  at  least,  the  general 
drift  of  his  ideas,  beyond  what  she  deserved. 
Wingfield  looked  at  her  in  vain,  and  then  broke 
the  silence  which  had  followed  Griggs'  last  speech. 

"  I  wish  one  knew  what  to  believe,"  he  said, 
formulating  the  nineteenth  century's  dying  ques 
tion.  "  It's  not  easy,  you  know,  with  all  these 
theories  about." 

Of  the  seven  persons  present  there  was  not  one 
whose  convictions  really  coincided,  even  approxi 
mately,  with  any  established  form  of  belief.  Yet 
all  belonged  to  some  one  of  the  few  principal 
Christian  churches,  by  birth,  early  associations 
and  youthful  teaching. 

Wingfield's    question   was    received    in    silence. 
His  bold  black  eyes  glanced  from  one  to  another  of 
48 


THE  EALSTONS.  49 

his  companions,  and  the  blood  mounted  slowly  in 
his  healthy  brown  cheeks,  for  he  was  young  enough 
to  fancy  that  some  of  these  might  have  thought 
his  remark  futile  or  trivial  and  he  did  not  wish  to 
seem  dull  before  Katharine. 

She  found  herself  in  a  strange  position.  By  a 
very  natural  train  of  circumstances  she  was  acci 
dentally  set  up  as  a  sort  of  idol  that  evening 
before  the  five  men  who,  of  all  others,  each  in  his 
own  way,  most  sincerely  loved  and  admired  her. 
Secretly  married  to  the  one  of  them  she  loved, 
two  of  the  others  —  Hamilton  Bright  and  Wing- 
field —  wished  to  marry  her.  Of  the  other  two, 
Crowdie,  the  painter,  admired  her  more  than  any 
woman  he  had  ever  seen,  though  he  was  undoubt 
edly  in  love  with  his  wife.  Had  she  been  able  to 
understand  his  admiration,  it  would  have  repelled 
her.  Fortunately  it  was  beneath  her  understand 
ing.  And  to  Griggs,  weather-beaten,  overworked, 
disenchanted  of  all  that  the  world  held,  by  reason 
of  having  had  much  of  it  either  too  early  or  too 
late,  with  his  hard  head  and  his  dreamy  mind 
and  his  almost  supernaturally  strong  hands  —  to 
Griggs  she  represented  something  he  would  not 
have  told  then,  but  something  which  Katharine 
need  not  have  been  ashamed  to  hear  of,  nor  her 
husband  to  tolerate.  Ralston  might  even  have 
found  sympathy  for  him. 

They  all  worshipped  her  in  one  way  or  another, 

VOL.    II.  4 


50  THE  EALSTONS. 

though  she  was  a  very  human  girl  of  her  time  and 
place  in  the  world.  And  somehow,  in  the  silence 
which  followed  Griggs'  speech,  broken  only  by 
Wingfield's  questioning  remark,  they  all  turned  to 
her  as  he  had  done,  as  though  in  her  face  they 
sought  the  lost  faith.  Hard-headed  men,  some  of 
them,  too,  and  hard-fisted.  The  three  eldest  had 
each  accomplished  something.  The  two  younger 
ones  were  perhaps  on  the  way.  They  were  rather 
typical  men. 

Katharine  was  vaguely  conscious  of  their  glances, 
and  was  the  first  to  speak,  after  Wingfield. 

"  It's  what  we  all  feel  —  what  half  the  people 
we  know  feel,  though  they  haven't  the  courage  to 
say  it." 

Wingfield  looked  at  her  gratefully,  conscious  that 
she  had  justified  what  he  had  feared  had  been  a 
foolish  observation. 

"  Katharine,"  said  Mrs.  Bright,  who  had  not 
spoken  for  a  long  time,  "if  you're  going  to  talk 
theology,  I  shall  go  to  bed  —  like  the  baron  in  the 
Ingoldsby  legends.  'There  are  no  windows  to 
break,  and  they  can't  get  in '  —  do  you  remember  ? 
So  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly  through  the 
siege.  It's  exactly  the  same  with  theology,  my 
dear.  It's  all  been  discussed  a  hundred  thousand 
times,  and  yet  nobody  ever  gets  in.  There's  only 
one  religion  the  whole  world  over,  and  that  is,  to  do 
the  best  one  can  and  help  other  people  —  because 


THE  RALSTONS.  51 

no  one  can  do  better  than  the  best  he  can,  accord 
ing  to  what  he  thinks  right.  And  there's  a  great 
deal  in  soap,  my  dear.  I'm  sure  people  feel  like 
better  people  when  they're  clean,  and  as  people  do 
what  they  feel,  why,  they  really  are  better  people. 
I'd  like  to  try  free  soap  in  the  State  of  New  York 
for  a  year,  and  see  whether  it  didn't  improve  the 
criminal  statistics." 

"It's  a  splendid  election  cry,  mother,"  said 
Bright.  "  '  Soap  —  Something  —  and  Stability.' 
We'll  try  it  some  day." 

"No,  but  there's  truth  in  it,"  protested  Mrs. 
Bright.  "  Isn't  there,  Mr.  Griggs  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Griggs,  gravely.  "  Every 
religion  that  ever  existed  has  some  rules  of  ablu 
tion.  And  there's  a  lot  of  truth  in  the  other 
things  you  said,  Mrs.  Bright.  Only  the  trouble  is, 
a  code  of  action  —  what  you  call  doing  the  best 
one  can  —  doesn't  satisfy  humanity.  The  average 
human  being  won't  do  anything  for  its  own  sake. 
He  must  do  it  for  his  own  advantage  here  —  or 
hereafter,  since  people  will  insist  on  using  that 
idiotic  word." 

"Why  idiotic?  "  asked  Wiiigfield,  very  naturally. 

"  Hereafter  means  a  future,  and  there  isn't  any 
such  thing,  except  in  a  small  way,  for  matter- 
worlds  and  such  little  trifles,  which  go  to  pieces 
every  two  or  three  thousand  million  years." 

"  Yes,  but  the  soul  —  if  we've  got  one." 


52  THE  RALSTONS. 

Wingfield  added  the  last  conditional  expression 
rather  sheepishly,  as  though  he  suspected  that  the 
highly  intellectual  beings  amongst  whom  he  found 
himself  might  have  done  away  with  such  old-fash 
ioned  nonsense  as  the  soul. 

"Of  course  you've  got  a  soul,"  said  Griggs, 
rather  impatiently.  "But  if  it's  a  real  soul,  it 
has  no  weight  and  no  size,  and  no  shape  and  no 
colour,  nor  anything  resembling  matter  —  nor  any 
thing  with  which  to  resemble  anything,  except 
other  souls.  Well,  of  course  you  know  that  time 
is  only  conceivable  in  relation  to  matter  in  motion, 
so  that  where  there  isn't  any  matter,  there  isn't 
any  time.  And  where  there's  no  time  there  can't 
be  portions  of  time,  which  are  past,  present,  and 
future.  So  the  soul  has  no  time,  doesn't  exist  in 
relation  to  time,  and  consequently  can't  be  said  to 
have  a  hereafter.  The  body  has  a  hereafter  —  oh, 
yes  —  it's  absorbed  into  the  elements  and  lives 
over  again  thousands  of  millions  of  times.  But 
the  soul  hasn't.  It's  eternal.  If  it  always  is  to 
be,  as  we  say,  comparing  it  to  matter,  why,  then,  it 
always  was,  by  the  same  comparison.  But  the 
fact  is,  that  f  it  is '  —  and  there's  no  more  to  be 
said.  '  It  is,'  and  as  it's  indestructible,  not  being 
matter,  by  the  hypothesis,  nothing  can  be  said  of 
it  in  that  respect  except  that  'it  is/  You  can't 
say  that  an  axiom,  for  instance,  has  a  past,  present, 
and  future,  can  you  ?  Well  —  if  the  soul's  any- 


THE  EALSTONS.  53 

thing,  it's  axiomatic.  There,  I've  bored  you  to 
death  —  shall  I  tear  another  pack  of  cards  for 
you,  or  break  silver  dollars  to  amuse  you?  I'll 
do  anything  I'm  told,  now  that  I've  had  my  say." 

Griggs  laughed  quietly  and  crossed  one  leg  over 
the  other,  as  he  looked  at  Katharine. 

"  You're  not  a  comforting  person  when  one  feels 
religious,"  she  said. 

"  No  —  by  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Bright.  "  You 
wouldn't  have  converted  the  cowboys  in  the  Naci- 
miento  Valley,  Griggs.  They'd  have  tried  their 
own  idea  of  a  hereafter  on  you  —  quick.  That's 
the  trouble  with  all  that  metaphysical  stuff,  or 
whatever  you  call  it  —  it  doesn't  say  anything  to 
mankind  —  it  only  talks  to  professorkind.  Unless 
a  fellow's  passed  a  sort  of  higher  standard  in 
terminations,  he  hasn't  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
spiritual  comfort.  He  couldn't  understand  the 
first  word  of  what  you  talk  about." 

"Did  I  use  long  words?"  asked  Griggs,  blandly. 
" I  thought  I  didn't." 

"Well,  not  exactly  long  words.  I  don't  mean 
literally  terminations.  But  you  talk  another  lan 
guage,  somehow.  I  know  I'm  what  they  call  an 
educated  man,  because  I  once  learned  some  Latin 
and  Greek  at  a  sinful  expense  of  time.  But  I 
can't  half  follow  you,  even  when  you  use  good 
plain  English.  The  policeman  at  the  corner  would 
march,  you  off  and  clap  you  in  jug  like  a  shot  if 


54  THE  RALSTONS. 

you  talked  to  him  that  way  for  five  minutes.  That 
is,  unless  you  tied  him  up  in  a  hard  knot  with 
those  hands  of  yours,  and  set  him  down  by  the 
railings  to  cool.  I  wouldn't  try  it,  though.  I 
suppose  there's  a  limit  to  the  number  of  policemen 
you  could  strangle  with  each  finger.  No  —  joking 
apart  —  that  sort  of  thing  isn't  going  to  take  the 
place  of  Christianity,  you  know  —  even  as  people 
like  us  look  at  what  we  call  Christianity.  You've 
got  to  have  something  to  pray  for  and  somebody 
to  pray  to,  you  know,  after  all." 

"  Well,"  answered  Griggs,  "  there's  God  to  pray 
to  and  salvation  to  pray  for." 

"  Not  in  your  system  —  without  any  future," 
retorted  Bright. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  replied  the  other.  "  You 
seem  to  think  I'm  an  atheist,  or  a  freethinker,  at 
least  —  though  I  can't  see  why,  I'm  sure." 

"  Why  —  because  —  "  Bright  stopped,  trying  to 
formulate  his  accusation. 

Katharine  laughed  a  little,  and  Wingfield  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  puzzled  expression,  as 
though  he  should  have  liked  to  understand  better. 
Griggs  proceeded  to  defend  himself. 

"Did  I  say  that  there  was  no  soul?"  he  enquired. 
"  On  the  contrary,  I  said  that  the  soul  was  eternal. 
Did  I  say  that  there  was  no  God  ?  I  said  nothing 
about  it.  The  soul  is  a  part  of  God,  and,  therefore, 
since  the  part  exists,  the  Whole,  of  which  it  is  a 


THE  RALSTONS.  55 

part,  exists  also.  It's  my  belief,  and,  therefore,  so 
far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  fact.  Belief  is  knowledge 
—  the  ultimate  possible  knowledge  of  every  man  at 
the  moment  of  asking  him  what  he  believes.  Did 
I  deny  that  the  soul  is  happy  or  unhappy  according 
to  its  rule  of  itself  ?  Not  at  all,  though  I  didn't 
try  to  explain  the  way  in  which  it  strikes  me.  You 
might  not  understand  it.  But  I  believe  that  its 
happiness  or  unhappiness  is  exactly  inversely  rela 
tive  to  the  amount  of  alloy  it  gets  from  the  things 
of  which  it  is  conscious.  As  I  see  them  all  in  my 
own  way,  I  believe  all  the  articles  of  faith  of  my 
church,  and  I'm  a  Roman  Catholic." 

"Well — I  don't  see  how  you  can,"  said  Bright, 
discontentedly. 

"  You're  our  dear  Buddhist !  "  put  in  Mrs.  Bright, 
with  a  breadth  of  toleration  peculiar  to  her,  and 
becoming.  "  You've  often  told  me  the  most  delight 
ful  things  about  Buddhism,  and  I  shall  never  think 
of  you  as  anything  but  a  Buddhist." 

"  That's  a  thoroughly  logical  position,  mother  ! " 
laughed  Bright.  "  Stick  to  it !  " 

"I  can't  help  it  if  my  Christianity  seems  like 
Buddhism  to  you,"  answered  Griggs.  "If  you 
knew  more  about  Buddhism,  you'd  see  the  differ 
ence  very  soon.  But  religion's  like  love.  It 
affects  different  people  differently.  It  isn't  often 
that  any  two  people  see  it  in  precisely  the  same 
light.  When  they  do  —  " 


56  THE  E ALSTONS. 

He  paused,  interrupting  himself.  His  tired  eyes 
became  suddenly  dreamy,  as  lie  stared  at  the  Per 
sian  embroidery  that  hung  before  the  disused  fire 
place  around  which  they  were  all  sitting. 

"  What  happens  when  they  do  ?  "  asked  Katha 
rine. 

"  What  happens,  Miss  Lauderdale  ?  How  should 
I  know  what  happens  when  people  who  are  in  love 
see  love  in  the  same  light  ?  I'm  an  old  bachelor, 
you  know."  He  laughed  drily,  being  roused  again. 

"You're  right  about  one  thing  at  all  events,"  said 
Crowdie.  "It's  not  often  that  two  people  love 
in  the  same  way.  There  are  five  of  us  men  here, 
about  as  radically  different  from  each  other  as  five 
men  could  be,  I  should  think.  It's  quite  possible 
that  we  may  all  be  more  or  less  in  love  at  the 
present  moment.  I'm  willing  to  confess  that  I  am. 
Don't  jump,  Ham  !  I'm  in  love  with  my  wife,  and 
as  we're  in  the  family  I  suppose  I  may  say  so, 
mayn't  I  ?  " 

"You  needn't  be  ashamed  of  loving  Hester,  my 
dear  Walter  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Bright. 

Bright  himself  said  nothing,  but  looked  curiously 
at  his  brother-in-law,  whom  he  disliked  in  an  unac 
countable  way.  He  had  never  been  able  to  under 
stand  Griggs'  apparent  attachment  to  the  man. 
He  had  heard  that  when  Crowdie  had  been  a  young 
art  student  in  Paris,  twelve  or  fourteen  years 
earlier,  Griggs  had  nursed  him  through  an  illness, 


THE  R ALSTONS.  57 

and  had  otherwise  taken  care  of  him.  There  was 
a  mystery  about  it  which  Hamilton  Bright  had 
always  wished  to  solve.  According  to  him,  the  best 
thing  about  Crowdie  was  his  friendship  for  the 
literary  man.  Bright  could  not  fathom  its  mys 
tery,  any  more  than  he  could  understand  his  sis 
ter's  passionate,  all-devouring  love  for  Crowdie. 
The  husband  and  wife  were  almost  inseparable. 
Such  a  state  of  things  should  have  seemed  admi 
rable  to  the  wife's  brother,  but  for  some  mysterious 
reason  it  did  not.  Bright  had  almost  resented 
his  sister's  ardent  devotion  to  a  man  who  seemed 
to  him  so  unmanly.  He  always  thought  that 
Crowdie,  with  his  soft,  pale  face  and  vividly  red 
lips,  was  like  a  poisonous  tropical  flower  that 
would  ultimately  harm  Hester  in  some  unimagina 
ble  way. 

"  No  —  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it,"  said  the  painter, 
in  answer  to  his  mother-in-law's  remark.  "  But 
that  isn't  the  question.  What  I  mean  is,  that  we 
all  love,  or  should  love,  in  different  ways  —  all  five 
of  us.  Look  at  us — how  different  we  are !  There's 
Griggs,  now.  I've  known  him  half  my  life  and  a 
good  bit  of  his.  If  he's  in  love,  he's  picked  out  a 
soul,  and  then  a  face,  and  then  a  set  of  ideas  out  of 
his  extensive  collection,  and  he's  sublimated  the 
whole  in  that  old  retort  of  a  brain  of  his,  and  he's 
living  on  the  perfume  of  the  essence.  Poor  old 
Griggs!" 


58  THE  ^ALSTONS. 

"  Don't  pity  me,  and  don't  patronize  me,  Crow- 
die!"  laughed  Griggs.  "If  you  offend  me,  I'll  pay 
you  off,  you  know." 

"  I'm  not  frightened  —  but  I've  done  with  you. 
I'll  go  on.  There's  Ralston  —  he's  dangerous. 
He'd  love  like  Othello,  and  lose  his  temper  like 
Hotspur.  As  for  Bright,  he  has  permanent  quali 
ties.  When  he's  once  made  up  his  mind,  it  makes 
up  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Faithful  Johnnie, 
don't  you  know  ?  He's  a  do  or  die  sort  of  man  — 
and  with  his  constitution  it  means  doing  and  not 
dying.  Wingfield  —  oh,  Wingfield's  Achilles.  An 
Achilles  with  black  hair  —  only  rather  more  so. 
With  his  size,  it's  lucky  for  the  Trojans  that  he 
hasn't  got  your  Lauderdale  temper  that  you're 
always  talking  about.  Schliemann  wouldn't  even 
find  the  foundations  of  Troy.  Wingfield  would 
pulverize  the  whole  place  and  use  it  up  for  polish 
ing  his  weapons.  Briseis,  or  nothing — while  the 
mood  lasts.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  you're  fickle, 
Wingfield,  but  you're  much  too  human  for  an  un 
dying  passion,  you  know." 

"  How  about  yourself  ?  "  enquired  young  Wing- 
field.  "  We've  each  had  our  turn.  Don't  forget 
yourself." 

"  Oh  —  as  for  myself  —  I  don't  know.  I'll  leave 
that  to  you.  You  can  all  take  your  revenge,  arid 
define  me,  if  you  like.  I'll  be  patient.  I'm  not 
aggressive  by  nature.  Besides,  I'm  quite  different 
—  I  mustn't  be  judged  like  you  other  men." 


THE  RALSTONS.  59 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  enquired  Katharine. 

"Why  —  I'm  an  artist.  The  foundations  of  my 
nature  are  different  from  yours.  I'm  a  skilled 
workman.  It's  your  business  to  be  more  or  less 
skilled  thinkers.  I  do  things  with  my  hands,  you 
do  things  with  your  brains.  The  beginning  of  art 
is  manual,  mechanical  skill.  Any  one  who's  got  it 
enough  to  be  an  artist  must  be  something  of  a 
materialist.  He  can't  help  it,  any  more  than  a  sur 
geon  can.  What's  subject  to  you  is  object  to  me  — 
so  we  can't  possibly  look  at  the  same  things  in  the 
same  way." 

"  That's  why  you're  such  a  confounded  material 
ist  !  "  exclaimed  Griggs. 

"  Nonsense !"  retorted  Crowdie.  "You're  always 
saying  that  matter's  an  illusion  and  an  idea.  I'm 
the  real  idealist  because  I  go  in  for  matter,  which 
is  nothing  but  a  dream,  according  to  you." 

"Of  all  the  consummately  impertinent  argu 
ments  !  "  laughed  the  man  of  letters.  "  You're  an 
arrant  humbug,  my  dear  Crowdie." 

t:  Since  matter's  only  humbug,  I  don't  mind," 
rejoined  the  painter.  "  That's  unanswerable  unless 
you  throw  up  your  theory  —  which  you  won't,  for 
I  know  you.  So  you'd  better  leave  me  and  my  art 
to  do  the  best  they  can  together." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Crowdie's  got  rather  the 
better  of  you,"  observed  Bright. 

"  Oh — he  has.     I  always  admit  that  the  children 


60  THE  EALSTONS. 

of  light  haven't  a  chance  against  the  children  of 
darkness." 

"That's  an  argument  <ad  hominem,'"  observed 
Crowdie.  "  It's  your  way  of  throwing  up  the 
sponge." 

"  Hit  him  again !  "  laughed  Bright.  "  Turn  the 
other  theoretical  cheek  to  the  smiter,  Griggs  !  " 

"  He's  afraid  of  me,  all  the  same,"  retorted 
Griggs.  "  These  materialists  are  the  most  super 
stitious  people  alive.  He  believes  that  I  learned 
all  sorts  of  queer  things  in  the  East,  and  that  I 
could  roll  up  his  shadow,  like  Peter  Schlemil's,  and 
destroy  his  Totem,  and  generally  make  his  life  a 
burden  to  him  by  translating  '  The  Owl  and  the 
Pussy  Cat '  into  Arabic,  and  pouring  ink  into  my 
hand,  and  all  that.  You  know  you  do." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Crowdie.  "  I  confess  that  I'm 
what  you  call  superstitious.  I'm  inclined  to  believe 
in  things  like  magic  and  spells — like  John  Welling 
ton  Wells.  Since  your  matter's  all  a  dream,  it 
can't  take  much  to  blur  it,  and  make  it  move  about 
and  change  and  behave  oddly.  Oh,  yes  —  I  believe 
in  the  spirits  of  the  four  elements,  and  all  that  — 
or  if  I  don't,  I'd  like  to." 

"  What  good  would  it  do  you  ?  "  asked  Wingfield, 
bluntly. 

"Good?  It  isn't  a  question  of  good,  it's  a 
question  of  beauty.  I  want  to  believe  that  beau 
tiful  things  have  a  consciousness  and  a  sort  of 


THE  RALSTONS.  61 

power  of  their  own,  a  special  perishable  soul  — 
the  sort  of  soul  that  Lucretius  talks  about.  I'm 
quite  willing  to  think  that  they  may  have  an 
immortal  soul,  too,  but  what  concerns  me  is  the 
perishable  one,  that  suffers  and  enjoys  and  speaks 
in  the  eyes  and  sighs  in  the  voice." 

Crowdie  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  In 
painting,  his  talent  lay  chiefly  in  expressing  that 
perishable,  passionate  animation  which  is  in  every 
human  face.  And  so  far  as  the  voice  was  con 
cerned,  his  own  was  remarkable,  and  the  few  who 
ever  heard  him  sing  were  almost  inclined  to  ask 
whether  he  had  not  mistaken  his  vocation  and 
erred  in  not  becoming  a  public  singer.  It  is  not 
an  uncommon  thing  to  find  painters  who  have 
beautiful  voices.  Gustave  Dore,  for  instance, 
might  have  earned  both  reputation  and  fortune 
as  a  tenor. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  an  incorrigible  heathen, 
Walter,"  said  Mrs.  Bright.  "I  wonder  you 
haven't  set  up  gods  and  goddesses  all  over  your 
house  —  you  and  Hester  —  with  little  tripods  be 
fore  them,  and  garlands  and  perfumes  —  like  Tade- 
ma's  pictures,  you  know." 

"You  can't  symbolize  matter,  aunt  Maggie," 
laughed  Crowdie.  "  If  you  do,  you  get  entangled 
with  the  ideal  again,  and  your  symbol  turns  into 
an  idol.  The  Greek  statues  were  meant  for  por 
traits  of  gods  and  goddesses,  not  for  symbols.  So 


62  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

were  the  pictures  and  the  images  of  the  early 
church  —  portraits  of  divine  and  holy  personages. 
The  moment  such  things  become  symbols,  there's 
a  revulsion,  and  they  turn  into  idols.'7 

"That's  a  profound  thought,  Crowdie,"  said 
Griggs.  "I  don't  believe  you  ever  hit  on  it  by 
yourself." 

"  Well  —  it's  in  my  consciousness,  anyhow,  and 
I  don't  know  where  it  comes  from,"  answered  the 
painter.  "I  suppose  it's  part  of  my  set  of  ideas 
about  matter." 

"  It  all  seems  to  me  very  abstruse,"  said  Wing- 
field,  who  was  considerably  bored  by  the  discus 
sion,  to  Katharine,  who  was  listening. 

"No,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "I  like  it.  It 
interests  me." 

She  had  only  glanced  at  him,  but  she  had  real 
ized  at  once  that  he  was  still  wholly  occupied  with 
herself.  There  was  a  wistful,  longing  regret  in 
his  black  eyes  just  then  which  she  understood  well 
enough.  She  was  sincerely  sorry  for  him,  and 
would  have  done  anything  reasonable  in  her  power 
to  comfort  him.  As  he  turned  from  her  she  looked 
at  him  again  with  an  expression  which  might  have 
been  interpreted  to  mean  an  affectionate  pity, 
though  she  had  certainly  never  got  so  far  as  to 
feel  anything  approaching  to  affection  for  the 
magnificent  youth.  Almost  immediately  she  was 
conscious  that  both  Ralston  and  Bright  were 


THE  RALSTONS.  63 

watching  her  during  the  momentary  pause  in  the 
conversation. 

"  Why  are  you  both  looking  at  me  like  that  ?  " 
she  asked,  innocently  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other. 

«  Oh  —  nothing  !  "  answered  Bright,  colouring 
suddenly  and  turning  his  eyes  away.  "I  didn't 
know  I  was  staring." 

Ralston  said  nothing  in  reply  to  her  question, 
but  transferred  his  gaze  from  her  to  Wingfield, 
with  something  not  unlike  envy  in  his  look.  Few 
men  could  look  at  Wingfield  without  feeling  a 
little  envious  of  his  outward  being,  and  Ralston 
was  a  man  singularly  devoid  of  personal  vanity, 
like  his  mother. 

"  I  wish  I  could  paint  you  all ! "  exclaimed 
Crowdie,  suddenly. 

"  That's  a  large  order,"  observed  Bright,  with  a 
smile. 

"You've  all  got  such  lots  in  your  faces  to-night," 
continued  the  artist,  with  an  odd  enthusiasm. 
"  There  must  be  something  in  the  air  —  well,  that 
doesn't  mean  anything,  of  course  —  but  it's  very 
strange." 

"  What's  strange  ?  "  asked  Katharine. 

"  Oh  —  I  can't  exactly  explain.  There's  an  un 
usual  air  about  us  all,  as  though  we  were  under 
pressure  and  rather  inclined  to  do  eccentric  things. 
I  could  paint  it,  but  I  can't  possibly  put  it  in  words." 


64  THE  E ALSTONS. 

"I  suppose  I'm  not  sensitive,"  said  Wingfield 
to  Katharine.  "  I  don't  notice  anything  particular, 
do  you  ?  At  least  —  not  outside,  you  know,"  he 
added,  quickly,  being  all  at  once  conscious  of  some 
thing  he  had  not  been  aware  of  a  moment  earlier. 

"  I  know  what  he  means,"  answered  Katharine. 
"I  feel  it  myself.  But  then  —  I'm  tired  and  I 
suppose  I'm  nervous." 

"There's  a  queer,  mythological  atmosphere 
about,"  Crowdie  was  saying. 

"  It's  what  we've  been  talking  about,"  said  Mrs. 
Bright.  "We're  all  so  completely  mixed  on  the 
subject  of  time  and  space  and  things  like  that,  that 
we're  just  ready  to  believe  in  ghosts,  and  turn 
tables,  and  make  idiots  of  ourselves." 

"  What  a  barbarian  you  are,  aunt  Maggie ! " 
cried  Crowdie,  looking  round  at  his  mother-in-law. 
"You'd  take  the  poetry  out  of  the  Nine  Muses. 
Not  that  I  meant  anything  poetical.  It's  much 
more  a  sort  of  creepy,  dreamy,  undefinable  sensa 
tion.  Yes  —  perhaps  you're  right  after  all.  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  one  of  us  saw  a  ghost 
to-night." 

"  What  will  you  bet  ?  "  enquired  Ham,  with  the 
slow,  western  emphasis  he  could  assume  when  he 
chose. 

"  You're  insufferable ! "  exclaimed  Crowdie. 
"  Fancy  betting  on  seeing  ghosts  !  You're  worse 
than  aunt  Maggie.  The  only  man  who  under- 


THE  RALSTONS.  65 

stands  me  is  Griggs.  Griggs,  you  do  understand, 
don't  you  ?  " 

There  was  something  petulant  and  almost 
womanish  in  his  tone,  which  struck  all  four  men 
disagreeably,  though  perhaps  none  of  them  could 
or  would  have  told  why. 

"  Don't  talk  !  "  answered  Griggs.  "  When  you 
want  people  to  understand  you,  paint  or  sing. 
You  only  make  a  mess  of  it  when  you  try  to 
explain  what  you  feel  in  English.  You're  a  good 
painter  and  you  sing  like  an  angel,  but  you're  a 
bad  talker." 

"  That's  said  because  I  got  the  better  of  you  in 
talking  just  now,"  retorted  Crowdie,  who  did  not 
seem  in  the  least  annoyed. 

"Oh,  don't  begin  sparring  again,  for  heaven's 
sake  !  "  exclaimed  Bright.  "  Cousin  Katharine's 
tired  to  death  of  hearing  you  two  righting.  Sing 
something,  Walter.  It's  much  better." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  answered  Crowdie.  "  Oh,  no  !  I  can't 
sing,  thank  you.  I  never  sing  at  parties  —  as  they 
call  it." 

"  You  don't  call  this  a  party,  do  you  ?  "  enquired 
Bright.  "Don't  be  silly.  We  all  want  to  hear 
you.  You're  not  the  common  amateur  who  has 
to  be  begged  and  flattered  and  cajoled,  and  praised 
afterwards.  You  can  sing  when  you  choose,  and 
we  all  want  you  to." 

"No.     I'd  rather  not,"  said  the  painter,  with  a 

VOL.    II. 5 


66  THE  E  ALSTONS. 

change  of  tone,  as  though  he  were  very  much  in 
earnest. 

"I  wish  you  would!"  Katharine,  for  the 
moment,  really  longed  to  hear  the  wonderful 
voice. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  asked  Crowdie. 

There  was  a  hesitation  in  his  tone  which  sug 
gested  the  idea  that  he  had  perhaps  been  waiting 
for  Katharine  to  ask  him,  in  order  to  yield  to  the 
request.  Instantly  the  young  girl  was  aware  that 
the  eyes  of  Ralston  and  Bright  were  upon  her. 
Griggs  had  turned  his  head  and  was  watching 
Crowdie  curiously.  Mrs.  Bright  looked  at  him, 
too,  hesitated,  and  then  spoke. 

"  I  really  think  that  promise  you  made  Hester 
was  too  absurd,  Walter !  "  she  said. 

"  What  promise  ?  "  asked  Katharine,  quickly. 

"Not  to  sing  for  any  one  but  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Bright,  before  Crowdie  could  interrupt  her.  "  Hes 
ter  told  me." 

Everybody  looked  at  Crowdie  and  smiled  at  the 
sentimentality.  His  soft  eyes  glanced  disagreeably 
at  his  mother-in-law  for  a  moment,  and  the  smile 
on  his  red  lips  did  not  conceal  his  annoyance. 

"Besides,"  continued  Mrs.  Bright,  "if  Katha 
rine  asks  you,  1  think  you  might  —  really,  it's  too 
silly  of  Hester." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Katharine,  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  break  any  promise,  Mr.  Crowdie  —  especially 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  67 

one  you've  made  to  Hester.  She'd  never  forgive 
me.  Please  don't  sing  —  some  time  when  she's 
here  —  perhaps  —  " 

But  at  once  she  again  felt  Ralston's  glance  and 
Bright's.  She  wondered  why  they  looked  at  her 
so  often. 

"Well  then,  it  isn't  Katharine  who  asks  you," 
said  Mrs.  Bright.  "I  do.  I'll  be  responsible  to 
Hester.  I  know  she  won't  mind,  if  it's  for  me. 
Now,  Walter,  do  !  Just  to  please  me  !  " 

Crowdie  said  nothing.  He  turned  his  eyes  upon 
her  and  then  to  Katharine's  face.  But,  feeling 
uncomfortably  as  though  she  were  being  watched 
for  some  reason  which  she  could  not  understand, 
Katharine  was  looking  down,  nervously  pulling 
at  a  thread  in  the  lace  which  covered  her  right 
arm. 

Wingfield  was  sitting  on  one  side  of  her,  in  one 
of  those  naturally  graceful  attitudes  which  athletes 
assume  without  thought  or  care,  one  elbow  on  his 
knee  as  he  bent  forward,  supporting  his  chin  upon 
his  in-turned  hand,  his  resolute  young  face  turned 
towards  Crowdie,  his  black  eyes  somewhat  sad  and 
shadowy.  On  Katharine's  other  side  sat  Ralston, 
nervous,  moody,  ready  to  spring,  as  it  were,  for  he 
had  not  yet  recovered  from  his  anger  at  what  had 
been  said  about  secret  marriages.  Next  to  him 
was  Bright,  upright  in  his  straight-backed  chair, 
his  heavy  arms  folded  on  his  full  chest,  his  round 


68  THE  RALSTONS. 

head  thrown  back,  his  clear   blue   eyes   fixed  on 
Katharine's  face. 

As  she  looked  up  again,  she  had  a  strong  impres 
sion  of  being  surrounded  by  splendid  wild  animals. 
Wingfield  was  the  tiger,  colossally  lithe,  brown, 
black,  and  golden ;  Ralston  the  panther,  less  in 
strength,  but  lighter  to  spring,  quicker  to  see,  per 
haps  more  cruel;  Bright  the  lion,  fair,  massive, 
dominant,  silent  in  his  strength.  Griggs  was  a 
wolf,  grey,  old,  tough,  destined  to  die  hard  some 
day  without  a  cry.  And  Crowdie  —  with  his 
woman's  eyes,  his  soft,  clear  voice,  his  delicate 
white  hands,  his  repellent  pallor,  and  wound- 
like  lips  —  Katharine  thought  of  neither  man  nor 
beast.  Even  in  the  midst  of  her  dream  of  wild 
animals,  he  was  Crowdie  still,  with  a  mysterious, 
indescribable,  poisonous  something  in  all  his  being 
which  made  it  a  suffering  for  her  to  touch  his 
hand.  To  this  something,  whatever  it  might  be, 
she  preferred  her  father's  cruel  avarice,  her 
mother's  envy,  heartless  as  it  had  been  while  it 
lasted.  To  it  she  would  have  preferred  a  drunk 
ard's  trembling  hand  and  lip.  John  Kalston's  un 
governable  temper  was  immeasurably  preferable  to 
that,  or  her  sister's  mean  pride  and  petty  vanity. 
There  was  no  weakness  or  sin,  scarcely  any  crime 
of  which  her  maiden  heart  had  dreamed  with  hor 
ror,  which  she  would  not  have  met  and  faced  and 
seen  in  its  bare  ugliness,  rather  than  that  unknown 


THE  RALSTONS.  69 

something  of  which  the  existence  was  a  certainty 
when  Crowdie  was  near  her. 

In  the  dead  silence  of  the  moment  the  very 
faintest  sound  would  have  been  loud.  Whether 
they  admitted  it  or  not,  they  were  none  of  them 
just  then  in  a  natural  or  normal  state  of  nerves, 
except  perhaps  Mrs.  Bright,  whose  supernal  calm 
was  not  easily  disturbed.  Each  one  of  the  five 
men  was  thinking  in  his  own  way  of  Katharine, 
and  of  all  she  might  be  to  him.  The  great  passion 
was  there,  five-fold,  and  it  made  itself  felt  in  the 
very  air  of  the  quiet  room. 

Then  a  soft  vibration,  as  of  a  soul  far  off,  mur 
muring  to  itself,  just  trembled  and  felt  its  way 
amongst  them,  like  the  promise  of  a  caress.  And 
again  it  came,  more  strongly,  more  clear,  floating 
in  the  soft  air  and  taking  life  in  it,  and  stealing  to 
the  heart  with  a  tender,  backward-reaching  regret, 
with  a  low,  passionate  looking  forward  to  things  of 
love  yet  to  come. 

Crowdie  was  singing.  He  had  not  changed  his 
position  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  and  he  had  scarcely 
raised  his  face.  There  was  no  effort,  no  outward 
striving  for  art,  no  searching  for  effect.  The  notes 
floated  from  his  lips  as  though  he  thought  them 
rather  than  as  though  they  were  produced  by  any 
human  means,  rising,  sinking,  with  ever  varying 
colour,  tone,  and  meaning,  ringing,  as  he  sang,  like 
an  angel's  clarion  tones,  sighing,  as  he  breathed 
them,  like  the  whole  world's  love-dream. 


70  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

Then  time,  too,  sank  away  into  dreamland. 
Before  Katharine's  closed  eyes  rose  Lohengrin, 
silver-armed  —  floated  the  mystic  swan  —  clashed 
the  clanging  swords.  And  then,  moonbeams,  the 
passionate,  great,  spell-ruled  love  —  the  question 
and  its  horror  of  endless  parting  —  the  rush  of  the 
destroyers  to  the  bridal  chamber,  the  last,  the  very 
last  farewell,  and  out  through  the  misty  portals  of 
the  dream  floated  again  the  fatal,  lordly  swan,  with 
arching  neck,  bearing  away,  spirit-like,  the  last 
breath  of  love  from  Elsa's  life. 

None  of  them  could  have  told  how  long  he  sang, 
for  time  was  away  in  dreamland,  and  passion's 
weary  eyes  drooped  and  saw  not  the  pain. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

KATHARINE  felt  considerable  hesitation  about 
going  to  see  Mrs.  Ralston  after  John  had  told  her 
that  he  had  confided  the  secret  of  their  marriage 
to  his  mother.  She  knew  very  well  that  they  must 
meet  before  long,  as  they  often  did,  and  she  felt 
that,  since  Mrs.  Ralston  knew  the  truth,  it  would  be 
very  disagreeable  if  the  meeting  took  place  in  the 
presence  of  other  persons.  So  far  as  any  formality 
was  concerned,  too,  it  would  naturally  have  been 
her  duty  to  go  and  see  her  mother-in-law,  though, 
in  consideration  of  the  young  girl's  broken  arm, 
any  such  questions  of  courtesy  could  well  be  over 
looked. 

Katharine's  sensations  as  she  looked  forward  to 
the  interview  could  not  easily  be  described.  She 
was,  as  usual,  in  a  very  exceptional  position,  for 
she  was  so  placed  that  she  should  have  to  make 
something  like  an  apology  to  Mrs.  Ralston  for 
having  married  John  against  his  will.  There  was 
something  absurd  in  the  idea,  and  Katharine  smiled, 
alone  in  her  room,  as  she  thought  of  it. 

She  was  tired  with  all  she  had  been  through,  and 
she  put  off  the  difficult  moment  rather  weakly, 
71 


72  THE  EALSTONS. 

telling  herself  that  she  would  surely  write  and 
make  an  appointment  on  the  following  day,  when 
she  had  collected  herself  and  thought  it  all  over. 
She  was  fond  of  Mrs.  Ralston,  and  knew  that  her 
liking  was  returned.  Mrs.  Ralston  had  made  her 
understand  that  well  enough,  and  John  had  taken 
pleasure  in  telling  her  that  his  mother  never  wished 
him  to  marry  any  one  else.  Nevertheless  Katha 
rine  felt  shy  and  awkward,  and  was  afraid  of  saying 
too  much  or  too  little. 

Mrs.  Ralston  herself  cut  short  all  hesitation  and 
came  to  see  Katharine  at  the  Brights',  and  found 
her  in  her  little  sitting-room  upstairs.  The  young 
girl  was  taken  by  surprise,  as  the  elder  woman  had 
followed  the  servant  and  entered  almost  as  soon  as 
she  had  been  announced. 

"  Oh  —  Mrs.  Ralston  ! "  she  cried,  sitting  up  on 
the  lounge  on  which  she  had  been  lying  after 
luncheon. 

They  exchanged  greetings.  Mrs.  Ralston  made 
her  lie  down  again  and  sat  beside  her.  There  was 
a  moment's  silence. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  said  Katharine,  break 
ing  the  ice. 

"  Of  course  I've  come  ! "  answered  Mrs.  Ralston. 
li  If  you'd  not  had  this  dreadful  accident,  you'd 
have  come  to  me ;  but  as  it  is,  I've  come  to  you, 
since  we  wanted  to  see  each  other." 

There  was  not  much  in  what  she  said,  but  it  gave 


THE  RALSTONS.  73 

Katharine  courage,  which  was  precisely  what  the 
elder  woman  wished  to  do.  That  was  one  of  her 
few  secrets.  She  knew  how  to  make  what  was  the 
best  thing  to  be  done  seem  altogether  natural,  and 
even  easy,  for  those  who  had  to  do  it,  while  avoiding 
the  appearance  of  ever  giving  advice  unless  it  were 
asked  of  her.  That  is  the  rare  gift  of  those  who 
really  influence  others  in  the  world.  Their  art  lies 
in  going  so  straight  as  to  make  any  way  but  their 
own  seem  crooked  by  comparison. 

"Yes,"  said  Katharine,  "I  wanted  to  see  you 
very  much.  The  fact  is  —  "  she  hesitated  and  she 
felt  the  colour  rising  in  her  cheeks,  though  Mrs. 
Ralston  could  not  see  it.  "  The  truth  is  that  I  —  " 
she  broke  off  again.  "  Oh,  what's  the  use  of  mak 
ing  phrases,  cousin  Katharine  ? "  she  exclaimed. 
"Jack  and  I  are  married  —  and  you  know  it  — 
and  you  must  forgive  me  —  that's  what  I  want  to 
say!" 

"And  that's  the  best  and  the  simplest  way  of 
saying  it,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Ralston,  smil 
ing —  for  she  was  happy.  "And  now  that  it's 
said,  let's  talk  about  it." 

"  How  good  you  are  !  "  Katharine  put  out  her 
left  hand,  and  turned,  bending  a  little,  so  that  her 
face  was  near  her  companion's  shoulder. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'm  good  to  be  glad," 
said  Mrs.  Ralston.  "  As  for  forgiving  you  —  that's 
for  your  father  and  mother,  not  for  me.  The  only 


74  THE  RALSTONS. 

thing  I  didn't  like  was  that  Jack  shouldn't  have 
told  me  at  once.  I  was  hurt  by  that.  We've  been 
good  friends,  he  and  I,  and  he  ought  to  have  known 
that  he  could  trust  ine." 

"  We  were  afraid  to  trust  anybody  —  except 
uncle  Robert,"  answered  Katharine,  simply.  "And 
we  had  to  trust  him.  That  was  the  object  of  our 
getting  married  as  we  did." 

"Of  course  you  could  trust  him  perfectly,  my 
dear.  But  it  did  no  good.  Jack  told  me  all  about 
that.  If  he  had  come  to  me  and  said  it  all  before 
hand,  I  could  have  helped  a  good  deal.  But  that 
wasn't  your  fault." 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  protested  the  young  girl,  anxious 
lest  Ralston  should  be  blamed  unjustly.  "  It  was 
altogether  my  idea  from  beginning  to  end  —  " 

"Jack  didn't  tell  me  that  —  " 

"No?"  Katharine's  face  lightened  softly.  "No," 
she  repeated,  in  another  tone.  "  He  wouldn't  have 
told  you  that.  He  would  have  thought  that  it 
would  be  like  blaming  me.  He  left  that  out  of  the 
truth.  But  it's  true,  and  you  ought  to  know  it. 
You  don't  know  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  per 
suade  him  to  marry  me  secretly.  I  used  every 
sort  of  argument  before  he  would  promise.  It  was 
I  who  thought  that  if  we  went  straight  to  uncle 
Robert  with  our  secret,  he  would  find  it  so  easy 
to  give  Jack  just  what  he  wanted.  But  Jack  was 
right.  He  knew  more  about  it  than  I  did.  How- 


THE   R  ALSTONS.  75 

ever,  he  yielded  at  last.  But  I  want  you  to  know 
how  hard  it  was.  He  said  it  was  like  a  begging 
speculation.  He  would  rather  have  died  than  have 
accepted  money  from  uncle  Kobert.  I'd  have  taken 
it,  and  uncle  Robert  offered  it  to  me,  but  Jack 
wouldn't  let  me  accept  it." 

"Of  course  not,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Rals- 
ton.     "  That's  exactly  what  it  would  have  been  — 
a  begging   speculation.      There's   only    one  thing 
that    can    excuse    a    secret    marriage,   and   that's 
love." 

"Well  —  in  that  case  — "  Katharine  did  not 
finish  her  sentence,  but  smiled  happily  as  she 
turned  her  face  away. 

"  Yes  —  exactly !  "  And  Mrs.  Kalston  laughed 
softly.  "That's  the  reason  why  I  say  that  I've 
nothing  to  forgive  you,"  she  continued,  after  a 
little  pause.  "  You  see,  you've  loved  each  other  a 
long  time  —  " 

"  Ages  ! "  exclaimed  Katharine,  energetically. 

"And  your  father  objected.  Of  course  he  had 
a  right  to  object,  if  he  saw  fit.  And  you  couldn't 
have  told  him  what  you  had  done  unless  you  were 
prepared  to  leave  him  and  come  to  me  —  which  you 
wouldn't  do  —  no  !  I  know  what  you're  going  to 
say  —  that  it  would  have  been  putting  a  burden 
upon  me — and  all  that.  But  it  wouldn't.  That's 
what  hurt  me,  that  taking  it  for  granted  that  I 
should  not  be  ready  —  much  more  than  ready  —  to 


76  THE  R ALSTONS. 

make  a  sacrifice  for  Jack's  sake.  Do  you  know 
what  he  is  to  me  —  that  boy  —  your  husband  ?" 

Her  face  changed  suddenly,  and  the  even  lips  set 
themselves  in  a  look  that  was  almost  fierce,  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

"  I  can  imagine,"  said  Katharine,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  know  what  he  is  to  me." 

"  Yes.  I  know  you  love  him.  But  it's  not  the 
same  thing.  You'll  know  some  day.  I  hope  you 
may.  There's  another  kind  of  love  besides  that  of 
men  and  women." 

She  spoke  with  a  suppressed  energy  that  Kath 
arine  hardly  understood.  The  young  girl  mentally 
compared  this  woman's  love  for  her  son  with  Alex 
ander  Junior's  parental  affection  for  his  daughter. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  very  different  thing. 

"  No,"  continued  Mrs.  Ralston.  "  You  can't  guess 
what  Jack  is  to  me,  and  always  has  been.  I  don't 
think  he  knows  it  himself.  If  he  did,  he'd  have 
trusted  me  more  when  he  was  in  trouble.  I'd  do  a 
good  deal  to  make  him  happy." 

As  usual  with  her,  there  were  no  big  words  nor 
harmonious  phrases.  What  she  said  was  very  sim 
ple.  But  at  that  moment  she  looked  as  though 
Katharine  Ralston  would  have  trampled  on  Kath 
arine  Lauderdale's  body,  if  it  could  have  contrib 
uted  to  Jack's  happiness. 

"  You  love  him  very  much,"  said  the  young  girl. 
«  So  do  I." 


THE  RALSTONS.  77 

"  I  know  you  do.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  in 
your  way  you  may  not  love  him  as  much  as  I 
do.  We  shan't  quarrel  about  that.  I  only  want 
you  to  understand  why  I  was  hurt  because  he 
wouldn't  tell  me  what  he'd  done.  Since  he  was  a 
boy  I've  thought  his  thoughts,  I've  lived  his  life, 
I've  done  his  deeds  —  I've  been  sorry  for  the  fool 
ish  ones  and  proud  of  the  good  ones  — I've  been  his 
other  self.  It  was  hard  that  I  shouldn't  have  a 
share  in  the  happiest  'moment  he  ever  had  —  when 
he  married  you.  It  hurt  me.  I'd  give  my  body 
and  my  soul  —  if  I  had  one  —  for  him.  He  had 
no  right  to  leave  me  out  and  hide  what  he  was 
doing." 

"  It  was  my  fault,"  said  Katharine.  "  It  was 
foolish  of  me  to  make  him  marry  me  at  all,  as 
things  were  then.  I've  thought  of  it  since.  Sup 
pose  that  we  had  changed  our  minds,  after  it  was 
done  —  we  were  married,  you  know  —  we  couldn't 
have  got  out  of  it." 

"If  you  changed  your  mind,  as  you  call  it,  I 
wouldn't  forgive  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston,  as  sternly 
as  a  man  could  have  spoken. 

Katharine  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  gravely.  "  I  think  that  if 
I  changed  my  mind  now,  you'd  try  and  kill  me. 
You  needn't  be  afraid." 

Mrs.  Ralston  returned  her  gaze,  and  her  features 
gradually  relaxed  into  a  peaceful  smile. 


78  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  In  old  times  I  should,"  she  said.  "  I  believe 
I'm  that  kind  of  woman.  But  we're  not  going  to 
quarrel  about  which  loves  him  best,  my  dear  — 
though  I  believe  we're  both  capable  of  committing 
any  folly  for  him,"  she  added. 

"  Yes.  We  are,"  said  Katharine.  "  And  I  don't 
suppose  that  we  could  say  so  to  any  one  else  but 
each  other  in  the  world." 

"  I'm  glad  you  feel  that.  So  do  I.  And  Jack 
knows  it  all  without  our  telling  him.  At  least,  he 
should,  by  this  time." 

"  Do  men  ever  know?"  asked  Katharine. 

"That's  hard  to  say.  I  think  there  are  men 
who  know  what  the  women  who  love  them  would 
do  for  them.  I'm  sure  there  are.  But  I  don't 
think  that  any  man  that  ever  lived  can  understand 
what  a  mother's  love  can  be  like,  when  it's  strongest. 
It  belongs  to  us  women  —  and  to  animals.  Men 
can  only  understand  what  they  can  feel  themselves, 
and  they  can  never  feel  that.  They  understand 
anything  that's  founded  on  passion,  but  nothing 
else." 

"Isn't  a  mother's  love  a  passion,  then?"  asked 
Katharine. 

"  No  —  it  can't  be  jealous." 

Katharine  wondered  whether  the  saying  were 
true,  and  whether  Mrs.  Ralston's  own  words  and 
looks  had  not  disproved  her  proposition  before  she 
had  stated  it. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IT  is  not  long  since,  upon  the  death  of  a  wel 
known  lawyer,  it  was  found  that  he  had  made  a 
long  and  elaborate  will  for  himself,  duly  signed 
and  witnessed,  but  no  single  clause  of  which  was 
good  in  law,  though  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
drawing  up  wills  for  others  during  all  his  pro 
fessional  life.  It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  dispose 
of  property  amongst  a  number  of  persons  in  such  a 
way  that  no  one  shall  be  able  to  find  a  flaw  which 
may  invalidate  the  whole  document,  even  if  the 
signing  and  witnessing  be  in  order  and  unassailable. 

For  a  long  time  past  Alexander  Junior  had  been 
much  interested  in  the  subject,  and  he  believed 
that  he  had  mastered  it  unaided,  in  all  its  details, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  detect  any  technical  illegality 
at  a  glance.  Being  quite  unable  to  foresee  the 
nature  of  Kobert  Lauderdale's  intentions,  he  had 
done  his  best  to  prepare  himself  at  all  points,  in 
case  the  will  should  turn  out  contrary  to  his  hopes 
and  wishes,  as  had  actually  occurred.  At  first 
sight,  however,  his  anticipations  were  disappointed. 
So  far  as  he  could  judge,  the  will  was  unassailable, 
though  it  contained  very  unusual  provisions.  If  it 
79 


80  THE  RALSTONS. 

were  admitted  to  probate,  it  looked  as  though  it 
would  be  unassailable. 

It  had  of  course  been  in  the  power  of  the  testator 
to  leave  the  whole  property  to  whom  he  pleased,  ir 
respective  of  relationship,  or  to  divide  it  amongst 
such  of  the  living  relations  as  he  chose  to  favour. 
But,  in  theory,  he  had  favoured  no  one.  He  had 
willed  as  though  the  whole  portion  had  belonged 
to  his  grandfather,  and  had  descended  from  the 
first  Lauderdale  who  had  emigrated,  to  all  the 
members  of  his  family  in  its  present  ramifications. 
It  was  not  easy  to  assail  the  justice  of  the  idea 
upon  which  the  will  had  thus  been  founded,  and 
there  could  be  no  question  of  attacking  it  on  the 
ground  that  the  testator  was  not  of  perfectly 
sound  mind. 

Clearly,  however,  it  would  be  vastly  to  Alex 
ander  Junior's  advantage  if  the  will  were  not 
allowed  to  stand.  Katharine  Kalston  would  get 
half  the  fortune,  indeed,  but  Alexander  Senior 
would  get  the  other  half.  This,  in  the  estimation 
of  Alexander  Junior,  would  be  tantamount  to  get 
ting  it  himself.  It  would  be  more  easy,  consider 
ing  his  father's  age  and  infirmities,  and  especially 
in  consideration  of  the  old  gentleman's  known 
tendency  to  give  away  everything  he  possessed,  to 
have  a  trust  constituted,  at  his  own  request,  so  far 
as  the  world  should  know,  which  trust  should 
manage  the  property  and  pay  him  the  income  aris- 


THE  .R ALSTONS.  81 

ing  from  it  during  the  remaining  years  of  his  life. 
In  the  ordinary  course  of  human  events,  Alexander 
Senior  could  not  be  expected  to  live  many  years 
longer,  and  his  son  believed  it  would  be  very  easy 
to  influence  him  in  the  making  of  his  will,  or  to 
prove  that  he  had  been  of  unsound  mind  in  case 
the  will  were  not  satisfactory.  Then  the  whole 
fortune  would  come  to  his  son  as  next  of  kin. 

But  Alexander  Junior  was  met  at  the  outset  by 
the  difficulty  of  finding  any  fault  with  the  will  of 
Robert  Lauderdale.  It  was  clear  from  the  date 
that  it  had  been  made  during  his  last  illness,  in 
the  interval  between  the  day  when  he  had  first 
been  very  near  death,  on  which  Alexander  had 
met  Katharine  in  the  house,  and  his  ultimate 
demise.  Several  weeks  had  passed,  during  which 
it  had  been  expected  that  he  might  recover,  and 
he  had  found  ample  time  to  reconsider  his  last 
wishes.  It  was  immediately  clear  to  Alexander 
that  this  was  probably  not  the  will  of  which  his 
uncle  had  spoken  to  his  daughter.  It  might  be. 
It  was  possible  that  he  had  told  her  what  he 
intended  to  do,  and  had  then  done  it.  But  it  was 
improbable ;  for  when  she  had  seen  him  that  first 
time,  he  had  not  been  expected  to  live,  and  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  then  looked  forward  to  the  pos 
sibility  of  drawing  up  a  document  requiring  consid 
erable  thought  and  great  care. 

It  was  quite  clear  that  Alexander  must  put  the 

VOL.    II. 0 


82  THE  E ALSTONS. 

matter  into  the  hands  of  a  keen  and  experienced 
man  without  delay,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  doing 
so.  If  he  had  not  acted  quickly,  the  will  might 
have  been  proved  and  administered  in  a  few  days, 
and  his  chance  would  be  gone.  Within  twenty- 
four  hours  it  was  known  that  the  will  would  be 
contested  by  Alexander  Lauderdale  Junior  on  be 
half  of  the  next  of  kin,  being  his  father  and 
Katharine  Ralston. 

At  this  news  there  was  a  great  commotion  in 
all  the  Lauderdale  tribe,  and  sides  and  parties 
declared  themselves  immediately.  The  prediction 
that  there  would  be  a  tremendous  disturbance  o| 
the  family  elements  was  immediately  realized,  for 
the  interests  at  stake  on  all  sides  were  very  large. 
The  ranks  were  marshalled  and  the  battle  began. 

Clearly  it  was  to  the  interest  of  the  Lauderdales 
and  the  Ralstons  to  invalidate  the  will  if  possible, 
while  it  was  that  of  the  Brights  to  sustain  it,  and 
the  heads  of  the  opposing  parties  were  actually 
Alexander  Lauderdale  Junior  and  Hamilton  Bright. 
It  should  have  followed  that  the  Brights  should 
have  stood  alone  against  all  the  others,  a  state  of 
things  which  Alexander  believed  should  influence 
the  court  in  his  favour,  since  in  common  opinion 
it  would  not  seem  exactly  fair  that  a  small  family 
of  distant  relations  should  get  as  much  as  all  the 
nephews  and  nieces  of  the  deceased  together.  In 
the  matter  of  wills,  the  courts  often  have  a  con- 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  83 

siderable  latitude  within  which  to  exercise  discre 
tion,  and  no  circumstance  which  bears  upon  the 
equity  of  the  case  is  insignificant. 

Though  Alexander  Junior  had  neither  a  very 
profound  nor  a  very  diplomatic  intelligence,  he  saw 
at  once,  and  his  lawyer  dwelt  upon  the  point,  that 
it  would  be  greatly  to  his  advantage  if  he  could 
establish  an  evident  solidarity  amongst  the  next  of 
kin  as  against  the  Brights,  who  would  profit  by 
the  will  as  it  stood.  It  became  his  object  there 
fore  to  assure  the  cooperation  of  the  Ralstons. 

At  first  sight  it  seemed  to  him  that  Mrs.  Ralston 
should  without  doubt  support  him.  He  could  not 
easily  conceive  that  she  should  hesitate  between 
accepting  a  quarter  of  the  fortune  to  be  divided  be 
tween  her  son  and  herself,  and  the  half  of  it  to  be 
held  in  her  own  right.  He  judged  her  by  himself, 
as  people  of  strong  passions  judge  others.  He  threw 
out  of  consideration  any  sentiment  she  might  have 
in  regard  to  the  fulfilment  of  Eobert  Lauderdale's 
wishes,  and  made  it  purely  a  question  of  money 
for  her,  as  it  was  for  himself.  He  did  not  believe 
that  any  enmity  which  Ijier  son  might,  and  undoubt 
edly  did,  feel  for  him,  could  stand  in  the  way  of 
such  a  power  as  twenty  millions  of  money  to  influ 
ence  her.  His  lawyer,  who  did  not  know  her  well, 
agreed  with  him. 

But  when  it  became  necessary  to  find  out  what 
Mrs.  Kalston  meant  to  do,  Alexander  was  conscious 


84  THE  R ALSTONS. 

that  he  might  be  wrong  in  his  calculations.  Much 
against  his  will  he  secretly  admitted  that  there 
might  be  other  motives  at  work  besides  the  love 
of  money,  especially  in  a  case  where  a  large  fortune 
was  a  certainty,  whatever  happened,  and  where  the 
choice  lay  not  between  much  and  nothing,  but 
between  much  and  more.  Mrs.  Kalston  returned 
answer  that  she  desired  to  consider  the  matter  and 
wished  to  know  how  soon  she  must  make  a  definite 
reply. 

Then  she  consulted  John. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Jack,"  she  said,  seat 
ing  herself  in  her  favourite  chair  in  his  study. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  was  raining. 
But  it  was  warm,  and  one  of  the  windows  was 
raised  a  little.  The  smell  of  the  wet  pavement 
and  the  soft  swish  of  the  shower  came  up  from  the 
street. 

"  Why  should  you  do  anything,  mother?  "  asked 
Ralston.  "  However  —  I  don't  know  —  "  he  checked 
himself  suddenly  and  became  thoughtful. 

"What  is  it,  Jack?  Why  do  you  hesitate?" 
asked  his  mother.  "I  hesitate,  too.  I  want  to 
know  what  you  think  about  it." 

Ralston  reflected  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
before  he  spoke. 

"There  are  so  many  ways  of  looking  at  it,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  In  the  first  place,  you  and  I  should 
naturally  like  to  carry  out  the  dear  old  man's 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  85 

wishes,  shouldn't  we?  That's  our  first  instinct,  I 
suppose.  Isn't  it?  " 

"Of  course  it  is.  There  can  be  no  question  of 
that." 

"Yes.  You  and  I  always  agree.  We  were  both 
fond  of  him,  and  we're  both  grateful  to  him.  We 
both  want  things  to  be  done  as  he  wished.  He's 
tried  to  be  just  all  round,  and  if  he  hasn't  been 
quite  fair  in  leaving  the  Brights  so  much,  it's 
because  justice  isn't  always  exactly  fair.  Law  is 
one  thing  and  equity's  another,  all  the  world  over. 
His  general  idea  was  to  make  litigation  impossible, 
and  in  carrying  it  out  the  principle  happened  to 
favour  the  Brights.  It  might  have  happened  to 
favour  us  instead." 

"  Yes.  That's  plain,"  said  Mrs.  Kalston.  "  That's 
one  side  of  the  case.  But  there's  the  other." 

"  More  than  one  other,  perhaps.  In  the  first  place, 
if  poor  uncle  Robert  did  anything  that's  not  good 
in  law,  I've  no  business  to  advise  you  to  support 
his  mistake  out  of  sentiment,  and  to  lose  twenty 
millions  by  it." 

"  Put  that  out  of  the  question,  Jack." 

"No  —  I  can't.  It's  a  first-rate  reason  against 
my  giving  you  any  advice  at  all.  I  ought  not  to 
influence  you.  You  should  act  for  yourself.  Only, 
as  we  agree  about  things  generally,  we're  talking 
it  over." 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Kalston.     "It's  not  that. 


86  THE  RALSTONS. 

It's  your  children.  If  I  should  stand  out  against 
Alexander  on  the  ground  of  sentiment,  I  may  be 
keeping  money  from  your  children,  or  their  chil 
dren,  which  they  have  much  more  claim  to  have  than 
the  Crowdies'  descendants,  for  instance.  And  you 
must  think  of  that,  too.  Hamilton  Bright's  get 
ting  on  towards  forty.  I  suppose  he  doesn't  marry 
because  he's  still  in  love  with  Katharine,  poor 
fellow.  But  if  he  doesn't  marry  soon,  he  probably 
never  will.  At  his  age  men  get  into  grooves.  He's 
devoted  to  his  mother,  and  with  all  her  good  qual 
ities  I  don't  believe  she'd  be  a  pleasant  mother-in- 
law,  if  Hamilton  brought  his  wife  to  the  house. 
He'll  see  that,  and  unless  he  falls  in  love  rather 
late,  he  won't  marry  for  any  other  reason.  Well 
—  he  and  aunt  Maggie  will  leave  their  money  to 
Hester's  children,  if  she  has  any.  There's  no 
reason  why  they  should  have  such  an  enormous 
amount.  They're  very  distant  relations,  anyhow. 
I  wonder  how  uncle  Robert  didn't  see  that. 
There'll  be  an  accumulation  of  money  enough  for 
twenty  ordinary  fortunes,  if  things  turn  out  in 
that  way." 

"  Yes  —  but  you  wouldn't  leave  the  Brights  out 
altogether,  mother,  would  you  ?  That's  what  will 
happen,  if  the  will  won't  hold." 

"We'll  make  a  compromise  and  give  them 
enough." 

"A    few   millions,"   suggested   Ralston,  with   a 


THE  E ALSTONS.  87 

little  laugh.  "  Isn't  it  funny  that  we  should  be 
talking  about  such  sums  in  real  earnest?  But 
Alexander  can't  see  it  in  that  light." 

"Well  —  if  he  doesn't?  We  can  do  it  alone  in 
that  case.  What's  a  million  in  forty  ?  " 

"Two  and  a  half  per  cent,"  answered  Kalston, 
promptly,  from  sheer  force  of  the  new  habit  he 
had  acquired  at  the  bank. 

"You're  turning  into  a  business  man,"  laughed 
his  mother.  "I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant  it 
would  be  little  enough." 

"Yes  —  but  Ham  wouldn't  take  it.  You  know 
him  as  well  as  I  do.  He'll  have  his  rights  or  noth 
ing.  Honestly,  there's  no  reason  on  earth  why 
you  should  make  him  a  present  of  a  million,  if  the 
law  doesn't  give  it  to  him.  And  there  can't  be  any 
comparison  in  this  case,  because  Alexander  means 
to  have  everything  for  his  father,  and  then  lock 
him  up  in  Bloomingdale  and  manage  the  fortune 
in  his  own  Trust  Company.  For  the  Brights  it 
means  forty  millions  or  nothing  —  not  a  red  cent." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right  about  that.  And  Hamil 
ton's  your  friend,  Jack." 

"He's  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  But  he's  not 
the  sort  of  fellow  to  turn  on  me  because  I'm  op 
posed  to  him  in  a  suit.  Still  —  he  couldn't  help 
feeling  that  it  must  make  a  difference.  He 
wouldn't  be  human  if  he  didn't.  You  mustn't 
blame  him  for  it." 


88  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  Blame  him !  Of  course  not !  Who  would  ? 
He's  the  one  who  has  everything  at  stake.  Well, 
Jack,  what  shall  we  do?  We've  got  to  decide." 

"  It's  not  easy.  Mother  —  why  don't  you  send 
for  Harry  Brett  and  put  the  whole  thing  in  his 
hands  ?  He's  a  perfectly  honourable  man  —  there 
aren't  many  like  him.  Tell  him  what  your  posi 
tion  is,  and  then  wash  your  hands  of  the  matter. 
That  seems  to  me  to  be  by  far  the  best  thing  to  do. 
Tell  him  just  how  far  you  feel  that  you  should  like 
to  carry  out  uncle  Robert's  wishes,  and  all  you've 
told  me.  He's  absolutely  honest,  and  he's  a  gen 
tleman.  If  the  law  is  plainly  for  us,  and  there's 
no  question  about  it,  then  let  him  take  it.  But  if 
Alexander's  going  to  try  and  get  round  it  by  quib 
bling,  Brett  will  stand  up  against  him  like  a  man. 
He's  a  fine  fellow,  Brett.  I  like  him.  You  can  be 
sure  that  he'll  do  the  right  thing." 

"  I  think  that's  very  good  advice.  I'll  see  him 
and  get  him  to  answer  the  letter.  I  suppose  the 
next  thing  will  be  that  Alexander  will  come  to  see 
me  and  want  to  persuade  me,  especially  if  Brett's 
for  upholding  the  will.  If  he  does,  I  won't  say  any 
thing.  What  I  hate  is  the  uncertainty  of  it  all. 
Until  it's  settled  you  and  Katharine  can't  consider 
yourselves  married.  At  least,  you  could  —  but  I 
suppose  you  won't." 

"  She  shan't  go  back  to  Clinton  Place,  at  all 
events,"  said  Ralston.  "The  next  time  she 


THE  RALSTONS.  89 

goes  through  that  door,  she  shall  go  as  my  wife. 
That  brute  has  ill-treated  her  enough,  and  he  shan't 
have  another  chance.  Of  course,  she  can't  go  on 
staying  at  the  Brights'  through  all  this.  That's 
another  thing.  It  won't  be  pleasant  for  her  to  feel 
that  her  father's  trying  his  best  to  keep  them  out 
of  the  fortune,  and  to  have  to  sit  down  to  dinner 
with  them  every  day  and  hear  it  discussed.  Be 
sides  —  poor  Ham's  deadly  in  love  still,  in  his  dear 
old  heavy  way.  I  wish  she'd  go  to  the  Crowdies'. 
I  tried  to  make  her  go  the  other  day  —  " 

"But  that  would  be  just  as  bad,"  said  Mrs. 
Ralston.  "Worse,  in  fact.  Crowdie  wouldn't  be 
half  so  careful  how  he  talked  as  Bright  would  be." 

"  That's  true.  Well  —  she'll  just  have  to  go  and 
stay  with  the  three  Miss  Miners,  then.  It  won't 
be  gay,  but  it  won't  be  unpleasant,  at  all  events." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Jack,  you'd  better  let  me  ask 
her  here.  At  all  events,  we  can  keep  her  father 
away.  Go  and  see  her  and  try  to  persuade  her  to 
come.  Or  I'll  go.  I  can  manage  it  better.  If 
you'll  let  me  tell  her  that  you've  told  me  about 
your  marriage,  it  will  be  easier.  Otherwise  she'll 
have  that  on  her  mind  as  a  reason  for  not  coming. 
After  all,  there's  no  especial  reason  why  she  should 
not  know,  is  there?  And  then,  Jack  —  you  don't 
know  how  I  should  like  to  feel  as  though  she 
were  really  your  wife!  Fve  always  wanted  her 
for  you." 


90  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

Ralston  kissed  his  mother's  hand  affectionately, 
and  held  it  in  his  own  a  moment. 

"  There's  no  reason,"  he  said,  presently.  "  I 
think  you'll  love  each  other  as  I  love  you  both." 

"  If  she  loves  you,  I  shall,"  answered  Mrs.  Rals 
ton,  and  her  face  set  itself  oddly.  "  If  she  doesn't 
-I  think  I  could  kill  her." 

In  this  way  they  agreed  as  far  as  possible  upon 
the  position  they  would  assume  in  the  great  family 
quarrel  which  was  imminent,  and,  on  the  whole, 
they  seemed  to  have  chosen  wisely. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN  each  household  there  was  rumour  of  war  and 
discussion  of  plans,  and  the  nervous  tension  was 
already  great.  In  Lafayette  Place,  the  exceed 
ingly  unfashionable  and  somewhat  remote  corner 
where  the  Crowdies  dwelt  in  one  of  the  half-dozen 
habitable  houses  there  situated,  there  was  consid 
erable  disturbance.  Walter  Crowdie  and  his  wife 
were  in  the  studio,  alone  together,  talking  about  it 
all.  Crowdie  had  received  a  communication  from 
his  brother-in-law,  telling  him  of  Alexander's  con 
templated  attack  and  enquiring  as  to  Crowdie's 
opinion,  more  as  a  matter  of  form  than  because  he 
expected  any  interference  or  needed  any  help. 

Hester  Crowdie  was  a  nervously  organized 
woman,  almost  insanely  in  love  with  her  husband. 
She  had  one  of  those  pale,  delicate,  passionate 
faces  which  are  not  easily  forgotten,  and  which 
seem  to  bear  the  sign  of  an  unusual  destiny  in 
each  line  and  shade  of  expression.  She  had  much 
of  the  hereditary  beauty  of  the  Lauderdales,  but 
the  regularity  of  her  features  was  not  what  struck 
the  eye  first.  She  was  slight,  but  graceful  as  a 
doe,  alternately  quick  and  then  indolent  as  an 
91 


92  THE  RALSTONS. 

Oriental  woman,  strong,  yet  liable  to  what  seemed 
inexplicable  fatigue  and  weakness  which  overtook 
her  without  warning,  and  often  sensitive  as  a  fine 
instrument  to  every  changing  influence  about  her, 
yet  constant  as  steel  in  her  idolizing  love  for  her 
husband. 

To  do  him  justice,  he  seemed  to  return  all  she 
felt  for  him  in  an  almost  like  degree.  They  were 
well-nigh  inseparable,  and  she  spent  every  moment 
of  the  day  with  him  which  she  could  spare  from 
her  very  slight  social  and  household  duties,  when 
he  himself  was  not  occupied  with  a  sitter. 

The  studio  was  a  vast  room  occupying  the  whole 
upper  story  of  the  house,  and  lighted  from  above 
as  well  as  by  windows,  the  latter  being  generally 
closed.  It  contained  a  barbaric  wealth  of  rich 
Eastern  carpets,  stuffs,  and  embroideries,  which 
covered  the  walls  and  the  huge  divans,  and  were 
draped  about  the  chimney-piece.  There  was  an 
old-fashioned  high-backed  chair  for  Crowdie's 
sitters,  and  there  were  generally  at  least  two  easels 
in  the  room,  having  unfinished  canvases  upon 
them.  But  there  was  nothing  else  —  not  a  sketch, 
not  a  bit  of  a  plaster  cast,  not  the  least  object  of 
metal.  There  were  none  of  those  more  or  less 
cheap  weapons  with  which  artists  are  fond  of  dec 
orating  their  studios,  there  were  no  vases,  no 
plants,  no  objects,  in  short,  but  the  easels,  the 
one  chair,  and  the  rich  materials  hung  upon  the 


THE  EALSTONS.  93 

walls,  spread  upon  the  divans,  covering  the  heaps 
of  soft  cushions.  Even  the  high  door  which  gave 
access  to  the  room  from  the  narrow  landing  was 
masked  by  a  great  embroidery.  Crowdie  kept  all 
his  paints  and  brushes  in  a  large  closet,  cut  off 
by  a  curtain,  and  built  out,  balcony-like,  over  the 
yard  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

Hester  Crowdie  lay  among  the  cushions  on  one 
of  the  enormous  divans.  She  was  dressed  in  black, 
and  the  garment  —  which  was  neither  gown  nor 
tea-gown,  nor  yet  a  frock  —  followed  closely  the 
lines  of  grace  in  which  her  bodily  beauty  ran, 
from  her  throat  to  her  slender  feet.  One  blood 
less  hand  lay  upon  the  dark  folds,  the  other 
was  pressed  almost  out  of  sight  in  the  yielding 
coils  of  her  rich  brown  hair ;  she  supported  her 
head,  resting  upon  her  elbow,  and  watching  her 
husband. 

Crowdie  was  standing  before  an  easel  near  by, 
palette  and  brushes  in  hand,  touching  the  canvas 
from  time  to  time,  mechanically  rather  than  with 
any  serious  intention  of  doing  anything  to  the 
picture. 

"  I  don't  see  why  your  brother  takes  the  trouble 
to  write,"  he  said.  "  It  may  be  a  sort  of  formality. 
He  must  know  that  I'd  be  dead  against  the  Lauder- 
dales  in  anything.  They  all  detest  me,  and  I  hate 
them  every  one,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  Hester.     "  I  hate  them  all 


94  THE  RALSTONS. 

—  except   Katharine.      But    you    don't   hate   her, 
either,  Walter." 

"  Oh  —  Katharine  ?  No  —  not  exactly.  She's 
too  good-looking  to  be  hated.  But  she  can't  bear 
me." 

"  It's  not  so  bad  as  that.  If  it  were,  she  shouldn't 
be  my  friend  for  a  day.  You  know  that.  But 
she's  with  the  enemy  in  the  present  case.  It  can't 
be  helped.  I  hope  we  shan't  quarrel.  But  if  we 
must  —  why,  we  must,  that's  all." 

Crowdie  touched  his  picture,  looked  at  it,  then 
glanced  at  his  wife  and  smiled. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  what  does  that  sort  of 
friendship  amount  to  ?  " 

"  Well  —  perhaps  you're  right,"  she  answered, 
and  she  smiled,  too,  as  her  eyes  met  his,  and  lin 
gered  a  moment  in  the  meeting.  "  I  don't  know  — 
perhaps  it  fills  up  the  little  empty  places  in  life 

—  when  you've  got  a  sister,  for  instance.     Besides 

—  I'm  fond  of   Katharine.     We've  always  been  a 
good  deal  together.     Not  that  I  think   she's  per 
fection   either,    you   know.     I  don't  like  the  way 
she's  gone  and  installed  herself  with   mamma,  as 
though  she  didn't  know  perfectly  well  that  Ham 
was  in  love  with  her,  and   that   she  was    making 
him  miserable." 

"  Ham  will  survive*  a  considerable  amount  of 
that  sort  of  misery.  Still,  it  must  be  unpleasant, 
especially  just  now.  After  all,  it's  her  father 


THE  RALSTONS.  95 

who's  attacking  you  and  your  mother  and  brother. 
They  can't  talk  freely  before  her  any  more  than 
you  and  I  should." 

"  No."  Hester  paused  a  moment,  and  her  face 
was  thoughtful.  "  Walter,"  she  began  again,  pres 
ently,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  he  asked,  softly.  "  I  have  all  the 
answers  ready  to  all  the  possible  questions  you  can 
ever  ask  of  me.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Walter  —  weren't  you  just  a  little  tiny  bit  in 
love  with  Katharine,  ever  so  long  ago,  before  we 
were  married  ?  Tell  me.  I  shan't  mind  —  that 
is,  if  it  was  very  long  ago." 

"  In  love  with  Katharine  Lauderdale  ?  No  — 
never.  That's  a  very  easy  question  to  answer." 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  and  the  hand  which 
held  the  palette  hung  down  by  his  side. 

"Weren't  you?  I  sometimes  think  that  you 
must  have  been.  You  look  at  her  sometimes  —  as 
though  she  pleased  you." 

Crowdie  laughed,  a  low,  golden  laugh,  and  glanced 
at  his  picture  again,  but  said  nothing.  Then,  in 
the  silence,  he  went  and  put  away  his  paints  and 
brushes  behind  the  curtain  on  one  side  of  the  fire 
place  at  the  other  end  of  the  great  room.  Hester 
lay  back  among  the  cushions  and  watched  him  till 
he  disappeared,  and  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  curtain 
until  he  came  out  again.  She  watched  him  as  a 
wild  animal  watches  her  mate  when  she  fears  that 


96  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

he  is  going  to  leave  her,  with  earnest,  glistening 
eyes. 

But  he  came  back,  bringing  with  him  a  small 
Japanese  vase  of  that  rare  old  bronze  that  rings 
under  the  touch  like  far-off  chimes.  He  set  it 
down  upon  the  tiles  before  the  fireplace,  and  poured 
something  into  it,  and  set  fire  to  the  liquid  with  a 
match.  It  blazed  with  a  misty  blue  flame,  and  he 
threw  a  few  grains  of  something  upon  it.  A  soft, 
white  smoke  rose  in  little  clouds,  and  an  intoxicat 
ing  perfume  filled  the  air. 

Hester's  delicate  nostrils  quivered,  as  she  lay 
back  amongst  her  cushions.  She  delighted  in  rare 
perfumes  \vhich  could  be  burned.  The  faint  colour 
rose  in  her  pale  cheeks,  and  her  eyelids  drooped. 
Crowdie  drove  the  white  smoke  with  his  hands, 
wafting  it  towards  her. 

"  What  a  strange  question  that  was  of  yours," 
he  said,  suddenly,  seating  himself  upon  the  edge 
of  the  divan,  and  touching  the  back  of  her  hand 
softly  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  laid  it  upon  his  as 
soon  as  he  had  spoken,  caressing  his  in  her  turn. 

"  Was  it  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  dreamy  voice.  "  It 
seemed  so  natural.  I  couldn't  help  asking  you. 
After  all,  there  are  days  when  she's  very  beautiful. 
But  that  wasn't  it,  exactly.  It  was  something  — 
oh,  Walter  !  why  did  you  sing  to  her  the  other 
night  ?  You  know  you  promised  that  you'd  never 


THE  EALSTONS.  97 

sing  if  I  wasn't  there.  It  hurt  me  — it  hurt  me  all 
over  when  I  heard  of  it.  Why  did  you  do  it  ? 
And  then,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  And  who  did  tell  you  ?  "  asked  Crowdie,  gently, 
but  his  eyelids  contracted  with  curiosity  as  he 
asked  the  question.  "  Not  Griggs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  Mamma  told  me,  yesterday.  Why 
did  you  do  it  ?  And  she  said  dreadfully  hard 
things  to  me  about  trying  to  keep  you  all  to  myself, 
and  locking  up  what  gives  people  so  much  pleasure 
—  and  all  that." 

"I'm  sorry  she  told  you.  Why  will  people  inter 
fere  and  tell  tales  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  but,  Walter  darling  —  do  I  lock  you  up 
and  try  to  keep  you  from  other  people  ?  Am  I 
jealous  and  horrid,  as  she  says  I  am  ?  If  you 
think  so,  tell  me.  Have  I  ever  interfered  with 
your  pleasure  ?  Am  I  always  getting  in  your 
way  ?  " 

"  Darling !  What  nonsense  you  talk  some 
times  !  " 

"  No,  but  seriously,  would  you  like  me  any  better 
if  I  were  like  Katharine  Lauderdale  ?  " 

The  passionate  eyes  sought  his,  and  there  was  a 
quick  breath,  half  suppressed,  as  her  hand  ceased 
to  caress  his  passive  fingers. 

"  I  couldn't  like  you  better  —  as  you  call  it, 
sweetest,"  answered  Crowdie. 

And   again   his    soft   laugh  rippled  up  through 

VOL.     II.  7 


98  THE  RALSTONS. 

perfumed  air.  With  a  movement  that  was  almost 
girlish  he  dropped  upon  one  elbow,  and  raising  her 
diaphanous  hand  in  his,  tapped  his  own  pale  cheek 
with  it.  Hester  laughed  a  little,  too. 

"  Because  if  I  thought  you  cared  for  Katharine 
Lauderdale  —  I'd  —  "  She  paused,  and  her  fingers 
stroked  his  silky  hair. 

"  What  would  you  do  to  Katharine  Lauderdale 
if  you  thought  I  cared  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  won't  tell  you,"  answered  Hester,  very  low. 
"  It  would  be  something  bad.  Why  did  you  sing 
for  her  if  you  don't  care  for  her  ?  " 

"I  sang  for  everybody.  Besides,  it  was  so  dull 
there.  They'd  been  talking  metaphysics  and  such 
rubbish,  and  there  was  a  long  pause,  and  aunt 
Maggie  wanted  me  to.  And  then,  when  she  said 
that  I'd  promised  never  to  sing  except  for  you,  I 
didn't  choose  to  let  them  all  believe  it  was  true. 
Katharine  begged  me  not  to,  I  remember  —  when 
she  was  told  that  I'd  made  you  a  promise." 

"  Did  she  ?  "  Hester's  eyelids  opened  and  then 
drooped  again.  "  She  knew  that  would  be  the  way 
to  make  you  sing,  or  she  wouldn't  have  said  it. 
How  mean  women  are  !  I'm  beginning  to  hate 
her,  too.  Are  you  sorry  ?  " 

"  Sorry  ?  No.  Why  should  I  be  sorry  ?  Sweet 
—  you've  got  this  idea  that  I've  a  fancy  for  her  — 
it's  foolish." 

"Is  it  ?     You  look  a  little  sorry,  though,  because 


THE  RALSTONS.  99 

I  said  &  should  hate  her.  She's  better  looking  than 
I  am."  * 

"  She  ! ''  Crowdie  laughed  again,  the  same  gen 
tle,  lulling,  golden  laugh.  "Besides  —  I  told  you 
—  she  can't  bear  me." 

"I  hate  her  for  that,  too  —  for  loving  your  voice  as 
she  does,  and  not  liking  you.  And  I  shall  hate  her 
if  her  father  gets  all  the  money  that  ought  to  come 
to  us,  because  if  I  ever  get  it,  I'm  going  to  make 
you  do  all  you've  ever  dreamed  of  doing  with  it. 
You  shall  build  your  palace  like  the  one  at  Agra  — 
Griggs  will  help  you,  for  he  knows  everything  — 
you  shall  do  all  you've  ever  dreamed  —  we'll  have 
the  alabaster  room  with  the  light  shining  through 
the  walls  —  you  shall  sing  to  me  there,  by  the 
fountain  —  but  you  shan't  sing  to  Katharine  Lau- 
derdale  —  there,  nor  anywhere  else  —  Walter,  you 
shan't  —  " 

"She's  got  into  your  head,  love  — ':  Crowdie's 
red  lips  kissed  the  bloodless  hand,  and  his  beautiful 
eyes  looked  up  to  Hester's  face.  "  It's  a  foolish 
thought,  sweet !  Let  me  kiss  it  away." 

Hester  said  nothing,  but  her  own  eyes  burned, 
and  her  nostrils  quivered  like  white  rose  leaves  in 
the  breeze,  delicate,  diaphanous,  passionate.  A 
little  shiver  ran  through  her,  and  she  sighed. 

"  Sing  to  me,"  she  said.  "  Sing  what  you  sang 
to  her  the  other  night.  Make  the  song  mine  again. 
Make  it  forget  her.  Sing  softly,  very  softly  —  soft, 
soft  —  you  know  how  I  love  the  notes  —  " 


100  THE  RALSTONS. 

She  closed  her  burning  eyes,  but  not  so  wholly 
but  what  she  could  see  him,  as  she  threw  back  her 
head  upon  the  cushions. 

Crowdie  sat  motionless  beside  her,  watching  her. 
His  lips  were  parted  as  though  he  were  just  about 
to  sing,  but  no  sound  escaped  them.  In  the  heavy, 
perfumed  air  the  stillness  was  intense,  and  it  was 
warm. 

"Sing,"  said  Hester,  just  above  a  whisper,  as 
though  she  were  murmuring  in  her  sleep. 

But  still  no  single  note  came  from  his  lips,  and 
still  his  eyes  rested  on  her  face. 

"  I  can't !  "  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  as  though  his 
own  breath  oppressed  him. 

Slowly  she  raised  her  lids,  and  her  eyes  met  his, 
wild,  dark,  almost  speaking  with  a  voice  of  their 
own. 

"  Why  did  you  sing  for  her  ?  "  she  asked,  whis 
pering,  as  he  gradually  bent  down  towards  her. 
"  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Like  death,"  he  answered,  bending  still. 

"  Do  you  hate  Katharine  Lauderdale  ? "  she 
asked,  very  near  his  face. 

"  I  hate  everything  but  you,  sweet  —  " 

The  two  transparent  hands  were  suddenly  raised 
and  framed  his  eyes,  and  held  him  a  moment. 

"  Say  you  hate  her ! "  The  whisper  was  short, 
fierce,  and  hot. 

"Yes  — I  hate  her." 


THE  RALSTONS.  101 

Then  the  hands  dropped. 

Far  off  before  the  great  chimney-piece,  the  little 
cloud  of  white  smoke  curled  slowly  from  the  censer 
upwards  through  the  soft,  love-laden  air  —  and  the 
perfume  stole  silently  everywhere,  in  and  out,  half 
poisonous  with  aromatic  sweetness,  all  through  the 
great  still  room. 


CHAPTER   Xill. 

KATHARINE  found  herself  in  a  very  difficult 
position.  During  the  next  few  days  she  realized 
clearly  that  she  could  not  continue  to  stay  with 
the  Brights  indefinitely,  both  on  account  of  their 
attitude  in  the  matter  of  the  will,  and  because 
Hamilton  Bright  was  in  love  with  her.  She  felt 
that  the  friendships  to  which  she  had  been  accus 
tomed  all  her  life  were  slipping  away  under  the 
pressure  of  circumstances,  and  that  some  of  her 
friends  were  becoming  her  enemies.  Reflections 
she  had  never  known  before  now  rose  in  her  mind, 
and  in  a  few  days  she  had  reached  that  state  of 
exaggerated  cynicism  and  unbelief  which  overtakes 
the  very  young  when  those  with  whom  they  closely 
associate  change  their  minds  upon  very  important 
points.  In  the  meantime,  Katharine  went  every 
day  to  see  her  mother  in  Clinton  Place  while  her 
father  was  down  town. 

The  bond  between  mother  and  daughter,  which 
had  been  so  violently  strained  during  the  previous 
winter,  and  again  within  the  past  few  weeks,  was 
growing  stronger  again.  The  events  which  were 
breaking  up  Katharine's  intimacy  with  Hester 
102 


THE  EALSTONS.  103 

Crowdie  and  the  Brights  had  the  effect  of  draw 
ing  her  and  her  mother  together.  So  far  as  Hester 
Crowdie  was  concerned,  Katharine's  friendship  for 
her  had  existed  upon  a  false  basis,  as  has  been 
seen.  The  elder  woman's  ardent  and  sensitive 
nature  reflected  itself  in  her  minor  actions  and 
relations,  lending  them  an  appearance  of  depth 
which  she  herself  was  far  from  feeling.  Katharine 
was  indeed  sympathetic  to  her,  and  there  had  been 
much  confidence  between  the  two,  which  had  not 
been  wholly  misplaced  on  either  side.  But  Hester 
did  not  wish  the  young  girl  to  see  too  much  of 
Crowdie.  How  far  she  understood  him  it  is  im 
possible  to  say,  but  that  she  loved  him  desperately 
and  was  jealous  of  every  glance  he  bestowed  on 
any  passing  figure  that  pleased  him,  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  Her  vanity  was  not  proof  against 
that  jealousy,  and  she  feared  comparison.  That 
Crowdie  should  have  broken  his  promise  about 
singing,  and  should  have  sung  to  please  Katharine, 
had  hurt  her  even  more  deeply  than  she  herself 
realized. 

On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  confession 
to  her  daughter  011  the  morning  after  Robert  Lau 
derdale's  death  had  produced  a  profound  impression 
upon  the  young  girl.  Being  quite  unable  to  realize 
a  state  of  mind  in  which  her  mother  could  really  be 
envious  of  her,  Katharine  readily  believed  that  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  had  greatly  exaggerated  in  her  own 


104  THE  RALSTOXS. 

judgment  the  fault  of  which  she  had  been  guilty, 
and  that  much  of  what  had  seemed  to  be  her  un- 
kindness  and  heartlessness  toward  Katharine  had 
really  been  the  result  of  her  unjust  self-accusation, 
leading  her  to  avoid  the  person  whom  she  believed 
that  she  had  injured.  All  that  was  a  little  vague, 
but  that  did  not  matter.  The  two  had  always  been 
allies  in  family  questions,  and  had  been  devotedly 
attached  to  one  another  until  this  year.  And  after 
the  first  violent  scene  with  Alexander  Junior,  the 
mother  had  taken  the  daughter's  side  again,  had 
released  her  from  imprisonment  in  her  own  room, 
and  had  approved  of  her  taking  shelter  with  uncle 
Robert.  The  confession  she  had  made  on  that 
morning  had  been  in  reality  a  complete  reconcilia 
tion.  Katharine  did  not  understand  how  much  her 
absence  from  home  during  twenty-four  hours  had 
to  do  with  the  subsidence  of  her  mother's  un 
natural  envy. 

The  result  was  that  at  the  present  juncture 
Katharine  desired  earnestly  to  return  to  her  home, 
and  would  have  done  so  in  spite  of  Ralston's 
objections,  had  she  been  assured  of  finding  any 
condition  approaching  even  to  an  armed  peace. 
But  of  this  she  had  little  hope.  She  learned  that 
her  father  was  morose  and  silent,  and  that  he  never 
referred  to  her.  His  attention  was  naturally  pre 
occupied  by  the  uncommon  interests  at  stake  in 
the  approaching  conflict,  and  he  grew  daily  more 


THE  EALSTONS.  105 

taciturn.  His  old  father  watched  events  with  that 
apparent  indifference  of  old  age,  which  often  con 
ceals  a  curiosity  not  without  cunning  in  finding 
means  of  satisfying  itself.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  also 
told  Katharine  that  Charlotte  and  her  husband 
were  coming  up  from  Washington  for  a  few  days, 
in  order  that  Slayback  and  Alexander  might  talk 
matters  over.  Contrary  to  the  latter's  expecta 
tions,  Slayback  did  not  seem  inclined  to  agree  with 
the  Lauderdales  about  the  attempt  to  break  the 
will,  though  his  wife  and  his  children  would  ulti 
mately  profit  largely  by  the  result,  if  it  proved 
successful. 

Katharine  returned  one  afternoon  from  Clinton 
Place,  after  discussing  these  matters  with  her 
mother,  and  found  Hamilton  Bright  in  the  library 
in  Park  Avenue.  She  always  avoided  as  much  as 
possible  being  alone  with  him,  and  when  she 
caught  sight  of  his  flaxen  head  bending  over  the 
writing-table,  she  was  about  to  withdraw  quietly 
and  go  to  her  own  room.  But  he  looked  up  quickly 
and  spoke  to  her.  . 

"Don't  run  away,  cousin  Katharine,"  he  said. 
"  And  you  always  do  run.  You  know  it's  not  safe, 
with  your  arm  in  a  sling." 

"But  I  wasn't  running,"  answered  the  young 
girl.  "Of  course  I'll  stay  if  you  want  me.  I 
thought  you  were  busy." 

"  Oh,  no  —  I  was  only  writing  a  note.     I've  fin- 


106  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

ished  —  and  —  and  I  should  be  awfully  glad  if 
you'd  stay  a  little  while." 

Katharine  glanced  at  his  face  and  saw  that  he 
was  embarrassed.  She  wondered  what  was  in  his 
mind  as  she  sat  down.  He  had  risen  from  his  seat 
and  seemed  to  hesitate  about  taking  another. 
When  a  man  hesitates  to  sit  down  in  order  to  talk 
to  a  woman,  only  two  suppositions  are  possible. 
Either  he  does  not  wish  to  be  caught  and  obliged 
to  stay  with  her,  or  he  has  something  important 
to  say,  and  thinks  that  he  can  talk  better  on  his 
legs  than  seated,  which  is  true  for  nine  men  out  of 
ten.  Bright  at  last  decided  in  favour  of  standing 
by  the  fireplace,  resting  one  elbow  upon  the  shelf 
and  thrusting  one  hand  into  his  pocket.  Katha 
rine  could  hear  the  soft  jingle  of  his  little  bunch  of 
keys.  She  expected  that  he  meant  to  say  some 
thing  about  the  difficulty  of  their  relative  positions 
in  regard  to  the  will,  which  must  lead  to  her  put 
ting  an  end  to  her  visit  immediately.  So  long  as 
the  subject  had  not  been  mentioned  the  position 
had  been  tenable,  but  if  it  were  once  discussed,  she 
felt  that  she  should  be  obliged  to  go  away  at  once. 
She  could  not  well  accept  the  hospitality  of  her 
father's  bitterest  opponents,  though  they  were  her 
friends  and  relations,  if  once  the  position  were 
clearly  denned. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  short  pause,  by 
way  of  helping  him,  for  by  this  time  she  was  sure 
that  he  had  something  to  say  to  her. 


THE  RALSTONS.  107 

"  Oh  —  nothing  —  "     He  hesitated.     "  That  is  - 
I  only  wanted  to  talk  to  you  a  little  —  that  is,  if 
you  don't  mind." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  at  all!  "  answered  Katharine, 
with  a  smile  in  which  she  tried  to  turn  her  amuse 
ment  into  encouragement. 

Except  at  great  moments,  almost  all  women  are 
wickedly  amused  when  a  man  is  embarrassed  in 
attacking  a  difficult  subject.  The  more  kind- 
hearted  ones,  like  Katharine,  will  often  help  a 
man.  The  cynical  ones  get  all  the  diversion  they 
can  out  of  the  situation  and  give  a  graphic  account 
of  it  to  the  first  intimate  friend  who  turns  up 
afterwards.  Katharine  really  thought  he  meant  to 
speak  of  the  will,  and  the  position  struck  her  as 
absurd.  She  was  in  the  position  of  having  forced 
herself  upon  the  hospitality  of  her  father's  enemies. 
She  wondered  how  Bright  would  put  the  matter, 
and,  woman-like,  at  the  same  moment  she  cata 
logued  her  belongings  as  they  lay  about  her  room 
upstairs  and  calculated  roughly  that  it  might  take 
her  as  much  as  an  hour  to  pack  all  her  things  if 
she  decided  to  go  that  evening.  Still  Bright  said 
nothing. 

"It  seems  to  be  rather  a  serious  matter,"  she 
said,  assuming  that  he  had  not  asked  her  to  stay 
in  order  to  talk  about  the  weather. 

"  Well  —  it  is  pretty  serious  for  me, "  he  an 
swered.  "It  amounts  to  this.  I  don't  know 


108  THE  EALSTONS. 

whether  you've  ever  noticed  anything,  so  I'm  not 
sure  just  how  to  begin.  I'd  like  to  make  a  straight 
statement  if  you  wouldn't  mind  —  that  is  —  if  I 
were  sure  of  not  offending  you." 

"I  don't  exactly  see  how  you  can  offend  me," 
answered  Katharine,  gravely.  "If  it's  about  the 
will,  I  suppose  we  think  alike,  only  I'd  hoped  that 
we  might  not  bring  it  up  and  talk  about  it  just 
yet.  But  if  you're  going  to  do  that,  I'd  rather 
you'd  let  me  speak  first.  I  think  I  should  antici 
pate  what  you  were  going  to  say.  I'd  rather  — 
and  it  would  be  less  trouble  for  you." 

"Well,"  replied  Bright,  doubtfully.  "I  don't 
know  that  I  meant  to  talk  about  that  exactly. 
But  there's  a  certain  connection.  If  you've  any 
thing  on  your  mind  to  say  about  it,  why,  go  ahead, 
cousin  Katharine  —  go  ahead.  I  daresay  you'll 
put  it  much  better  than  I  shall." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But  it  may  seem  to 
come  better  from  me.  I'll  say  it,  at  all  events, 
and  if  you  don't  think  as  I  do,  tell  me  so.  Of 
course  I  know  how  strange  it  must  have  seemed  to 
you  and  aunt  Maggie  that  I  should  have  come  here, 
out  of  a  clear  sky,  the  other  day,  without  so  much 
as  giving  you  half  an  hour's  warning.  No  amount 
of  charity  and  hospitality  can  make  that  look 
natural  to  you,  —  to  either  of  you,  —  and  I  dare 
say  you've  wondered  about  it.  And  then,  to  stay 
on  in  this  way,  after  my  father  has  behaved  in 


THE  R ALSTONS.  109 

the  way  he  has  —  it's  not  exactly  delicate,  you 
know  —  " 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Bright,  emphatically. 
"You're  mistaken  if  you  think  that's  my  view  of 
the  case." 

"I  don't  think  I'm  mistaken,  cousin  Ham.  I 
daresay  you  may  like  to  have  me,  but  that  doesn't 
explain  my  coming,  does  it?  But  I'm  in  an  awfully 
hard  position  just  now,  and  the  other  day  —  do  you 
know?  I  was  driving  to  the  Crowdies',  and  then 
I  changed  my  mind  and  came  here  instead." 

"I'm  glad  you  did.  So's  my  mother.  As  for 
not  thinking  it  natural,  when  your  father's  tearing 
about  like  wild  and  rooting  up  everything  like  a 
mad  rhinoceros  —  oh,  I  say !  I  beg  your  pardon  —  " 

Katharine  did  not  smile,  for  there  was  good  blood 
in  her  veins,  of  the  kind  that  does  not  play  false 
at  such  moments.  But  the  temptation  to  laugh 
was  strong,  and  she  looked  fixedly  at  her  left 
hand. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Please  don't  speak  of  my 
father  like  that.  I  suppose  you  both  think  you're 
right  in  this  horrible  question  of  money.  I  myself 
don't  know  what  I  think.  He's  wrong  in  one  way, 
of  course.  Whether  there's  a  flaw  in  the  will  or 
not,  it  represents  poor  uncle  Robert's  last  wish 
about  his  fortune.  If  he  changed  his  mind,  that's 
none  of  our  business  —  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Bright,  quickly,  and 


110  THE  EALSTONS. 

forgetting  his  embarrassment.  "Did  you  say  he 
changed  his  mind  ?  " 

"I  didn't  mean  to  say  that,  positively,"  answered 
Katharine,  who  had  forgotten  herself  for  a  moment. 
"  As  the  will  was  made  almost  at  the  last  moment, 
perhaps  there  had  been  —  others,  before  it.  People 
often  make  several  wills,  don't  they  ?  That's  all 
I  meant.  My  own  feeling  would  be  to  carry  out 
his  wishes.  But  I  suppose  men  feel  differently  — 
and  it's  an  enormous  fortune,  of  course.  The  main 
point  is  that  you  and  your  mother  are  legally  my 
father's  enemies  —  well,  call  it  opponents  —  and 
I've  no  business  to  be  eating  your  bread  while  it 
lasts.  That's  what  it  comes  to,  in  plain  language." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  in  that  way,  cousin 
Katharine,"  said  Bright,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  don't 
think  it's  exactly  kind." 

"It's  true,  at  all  events,"  answered  Katharine. 
"As  for  being  kind  —  it's  not  a  case  of  kindness 
on  my  part.  It's  gratitude  I  feel,  because  you  and 
aunt  Maggie  have  been  so  awfully  kind  to  me,  just 
when  I  was  in  trouble." 

"Oh  —  if  you're  going  to  look  at  it  in  that 
way !  "  Bright  paused,  but  Katharine  said  nothing. 
"Well,  I  don't  see  where  the  kindness  lies,"  he 
continued.  "  Of  course,  if  you  choose  to  put  it  so 
—  but  it's  a  long  way  on  the  other  side.  It's  a 
pretty  considerable  kindness  of  you  to  come  and 
stop  in  my  house.  If  that's  what  you've  got  to 


THE  EALSTONS.  Ill 

say  about  the  will  business,  cousin  Katharine,  I 
hope  you  won't  say  any  more,  because  I  don't  like 
it.  I  appreciate  —  I  suppose  that's  the  word  —  I 
appreciate  your  motives  in  trying  to  twist  things 
inside  out  and  to  make  martyrs  of  us  because 
we've  accepted  your  company  without  saying, 
'Look  here,  cousin  Katharine,  this  is  our  bread, 
and  you're  eating  it,  and  we  don't  exactly  mind, 
but  we'd  rather  you'd  go  and  eat  your  own.'  I 
suppose  that's  what  you  make  out  that  we're  think 
ing  all  the  time.  I  don't  know  whether  you  call 
that  being  kind  to  me,  exactly,  but  I  know  pretty 
well  what  it  feels  like.  It  feels  as  if  you'd  slapped 
my  face." 

"  Ham  !  Cousin  Ham  ! "  cried  Katharine.  "You 
know  how  I  meant  it  —  please?  please  don't 
think  —  " 

"  No ;  I  know  I'm  an  idiot.  I  suppose  it's  just 
as  well  you  should  know  it,  too.  It  may  make 
things  more  comfortable.  But  I'll  tell  you.  Don't 
talk  that  way,  please,  because  we  don't  feel  that 
way,  and  we're  not  going  to.  I'd  rather  have  you 
know  that  this  is  just  as  much  your  home  as  Clin 
ton  Place  is  than  —  well,  than  lots  of  things.  And 
since  we're  saying  everything  right  out,  like  this, 
and  we're  either  going  to  be  friends  —  or  not  —  I'd 
like  to  ask  you  one  question,  if  you  don't  mind. 
You  may  be  offended,  but  you'll  know  I  didn't  mean 
to  be  offensive,  because  I've  said  so.  May  I  ?" 


112  THE  R ALSTONS. 

He  spoke  roughly,  relapsing  under  excitement 
and  emotion  to  habits  of  speech  which  had  been 
formed  and  strengthened  in  his  early  years  in  the 
West.  Katharine  had  occasionally  heard  him  talk 
in  that  way  with  men,  losing  all  at  once  the  refine 
ments  of  accent  and  speech  which  had  been  familiar 
in  childhood  and  again  in  maturity,  but  which  ten 
years  of  California  and  Nevada  had  lined,  so  to  say, 
with  something  rougher  and  stronger  that  occasion 
ally  broke  through  the  shell.  Katharine  was  by  no 
means  sure  of  what  he  meant  to  say,  and  would  very 
much  have  preferred  that  he  should  not  ask  his 
question  just  then,  whatever  it  might  prove  to  be. 
But  she  saw  well  enough  that  in  his  present  mood 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  control  him. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Ask  me  anything  you  like, 
if  you  think  I  can  answer.  I  will  if  I  can." 

"Well  —  are  you  going  to  marry  Jack  Ralston 
or  not,  cousin  Katharine  ?  It  would  make  a  differ 
ence  to  me  if  you'd  tell  me." 

Katharine  was  taken  unawares,  both  by  the 
question  and  its  form.  Not  to  answer  it  was  very 
difficult,  under  the  circumstances.  She  had  risked 
trouble  in  letting  him  speak,  and  it  would  not  be 
true  either  to  say  that  she  was  going  to  marry 
Ralston  or  that  she  was  not,  since  she  was  married 
already.  But  she  had  never  contemplated  the 
possibility  of  telling  Bright  the  secret,  and  she 
did  not  wish  to  do  so  now.  She  was  very  truthful 


THE  RALSTONS.  113 

and  also  very  reticent  —  qualities  which  she  inher 
ited,  and  which  were  therefore  the  foundation  of 
her  impulses  and  not  acquired  virtues  from  which 
there  was  at  least  a  chance  of  escape  under  very 
trying  circumstances.  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then  made  up  her  mind. 

"I'd  rather  not  answer  the  question  just  now," 
she  said,  but  she  felt  the  blush  slowly  rising  to 
her  cheeks. 

Bright  glanced  at  her  with  a  look  almost  ex 
pressing  fear.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  away,  and 
grew  red.  He  jingled  his  little  bunch  of  keys  in 
his  pocket,  in  his  emotion.  Once  or  twice  he 
opened  his  lips  and  drew  breath,  but  checked  him 
self  and  kept  silence.  Seeing  that  he  said  nothing, 
Katharine  rose  to  her  feet,  hoping  to  put  an  end  to 
the  situation.  He  pretended  not  to  see  her,  at  first. 
She  felt  that  she  should  not  go  away  in  silence,  for 
she  did  not  wish  to  seem  unkind,  so  she  stood  still 
for  a  moment,  keeping  herself  in  countenance  by 
adjusting  the  little  cape  she  wore  over  her  injured 
arm.  Still  he  said  nothing,  and  at  last  she  made 
a  step  as  though  she  were  going  away,  purposely 
trying  to  put  on  a  kindly  and  natural  expression. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he  asked,  almost 
roughly. 

"  I  was  going  to  my  room,"  she  answered,  quietly. 
"  I  haven't  even  taken  off  my  hat,  yet,  you  see. 
I'm  just  as  I  came  in." 

VOL.    II.  8 


114  THE  EALSTONS. 

She  lengthened  the  short  explanation  unneces 
sarily  in  order  to  seem  kind,  and  then  regretted  it. 
She  made  another  step. 

"  Don't  go  just  yet !  "  he  exclaimed. 

His  throat  was  dry,  and  the  words  came  with 
difficulty.  Katharine  knew  that  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  done  now  but  to  face  the  situation.  She 
stopped  just  as  she  was  about  to  take  another  step, 
and  came  back  to  him  as  he  stood  by  the  fireplace. 

"Please  don't  say  anything  more,"  she  said. 
"  I  hadn't  any  idea  what  question  you  were  going 
to  ask.  Please  don't  —  " 

"Just  hear  me,  please,"  he  answered,  paying  no 
attention  to  what  she  said.  "It  isn't  going  to 
take  long.  You  know  what  I  meant.  Well  — 
I've  thought  for  some  time  that  things  had  cooled 
off  between  you  and  Jack,  and  that  you'd  settled 
down  to  be  friends.  So  I  thought  I'd  ask  you. 
Of  course,  if  you  said  right  out  that  you  were 
going  to  marry  him  or  you  weren't  —  well,  that 
would  rather  simplify  things.  But  of  course,  if 
you  can't,  or  won't,  I've  just  got  to  be  satisfied, 
that's  all.  You've  got  a  doubt,  anyhow.  And 
Jack's  my  friend.  He  had  the  first  right,  and  he 
has  it  until  you  say  'no'  and  send  him  off.  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  that  I'm  not  acting 
squarely  by  him." 

For  a  moment  Katharine  hesitated.  She  was 
much  tempted  to  tell  him  of  her  marriage,  seeing 


TEE  EALSTONS.  115 

how  he  spoke,  but  again  her  natural  impulse  kept 
her  silent  on  that  point. 

"  There'll  never  be  any  chance  for  any  one  else, 
Hani,"  she  said  gently.  "Put  it  out  of  your 
mind  —  and  I'm  grateful,  indeed  I  am!  " 

"Never?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her  —  and  a  ner 
vous  smile  that  meant  nothing  came  into  his  face. 

She  shook  her  head  in  answer. 

"There'll  never  be  any  chance  for  any  one  else," 
she  repeated  gravely. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  longer,  his  face 
growing  rather  pale.  Once  more  he  jingled  his 
keys  in  his  pocket,  as  he  turned  his  head  away. 

"Well  —  I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "Excuse  me  if  I 
spoke  — you  see  I  didn't  know," 

There  was  a  tone  with  the  commonplace  words 
that  took  them  straight  to  Katharine's  heart.  She 
saw  how  the  strong,  simple,  uneloquent  man  was 
suffering,  and  she  knew  that  she  should  never  have 
come  to  the  house. 

"I'm  more  sorry  —  and  more  ashamed  —  than 
you  can  guess,"  she  said,  and  with  bent  head  she 
left  him  standing  by  the  fireplace,  and  went  to  her 
room. 

He  did  not  move  for  a  long  time  after  she  had 
gone,  but  stood  still,  his  face  changing,  though 
little,  from  time  to  time,  with  his  thoughts.  He 
jingled  his  keys  meditatively  in  his  pocket  every 
now  and  then.  At  last  he  sighed  and  uttered  one 


116  THE  RALSTONS. 

monosyllable,  solemnly  and  without  undue  em 
phasis. 

"Damn." 

Then  he  shook  his  big  shoulders,  and  got  his  hat 
and  went  for  a  solitary  stroll,  eastwards  in  the 
direction  of  the  river. 

But  Katharine  had  not  such  powerful  monosyl 
lables  at  her  command,  and  she  suddenly  felt  very 
much  ashamed  of  herself,  as  she  shut  the  door  of 
her  room  and  looked  about,  with  a  vague  idea  that 
she  ought  to  go  away  at  once.  It  was  not  as  though 
she  had  not  been  warned  of  what  might  happen, 
nor  as  though  she  had  been  forced  into  the  situa 
tion  against  her  will.  She  had  deliberately  chosen 
to  come  to  the  Brights'  rather  than  to  go  anywhere 
else,  and  had  obliged  John  Ralston  to  let  her  do  so 
when  she  had  been  with  him  in  the  carriage.  If 
she  ever  told  him  what  had  just  happened  he  would 
have  in  his  power  one  of  those  weapons  which,  in 
a  small  way,  humanity  keenly  dreads,  to  wit,  the 
power  to  say  "  I  told  you  so. "  It  is  not  easy  to 
explain  the  sense  of  utter  humiliation  which  most 
of  us  feel  —  though  we  jest  about  it  —  when  the 
warning  of  another  proves  to  have  been  well 
founded. 

Katharine  saw,  however,  that  her  wandering 
existence  could  continue  no  longer,  and  that  if  she 
left  the  Brights'  she  must  go  home.  She  could  not 
continue  to  transfer  herself  from  the  home  of  one 


THE  RALSTONS.  117 

relation  to  that  of  another,  with  her  box  and  her 
valise,  for  an  indefinite  period.  In  the  first  place, 
she  was  inconveniencing  people,  and  secondly,  they 
would  ultimately  begin  to  wonder  what  had  hap 
pened  in  Clinton  Place  to  make  it  impossible  for 
her  to  stay  in  her  father's  house.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  was  not  prepared  to  go  there  at  a, 
moment's  notice.  She  could  hardly  expect  a  very 
hearty  welcome  from  her  father,  considering  how 
they  had  parted  on  that  afternoon  at  Eobert  Lau- 
derdale's  house  more  than  a  week  earlier. 

She  hesitated  as  to  whether  she  should  not  pre 
tend  to  be  ill  and  stay  in  her  room  until  the  next 
morning,  when  she  could  go  back  quietly  to  Clinton 
Place.  But  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Bright  would  come 
and  sit  with  her  and  would  very  soon  find  out  that 
there  was  nothing  the  matter.  She  might  have 
saved  herself  the  trouble  of  thinking  of  that,  for 
Bright  himself  did  not  wish  to  meet  her,  and  went 
out  and  dined  at  his  club  as  the  surest  way  of 
avoiding  her.  It  was  as  well,  at  all  events,  that 
she  did  not  attempt  to  go  to  the  Crowdies',  for  her 
appearance  there  just  then  would  not  have  pleased 
Hester,  and  would  have  considerably  disturbed 
Crowdie's  own  peace  of  mind. 

She  was  immensely  relieved  to  find  herself  alone 
at  dinner  with  Mrs.  Bright,  who  made  Hamilton's 
excuses,  and  she  looked  forward  to  spending  a  quiet 
evening  and  going  to  bed  early,  unless  Ralston 


118  THE  RALSTONS. 

came.  This,  however,  was  not  probable,  for  he  had 
come  on  the  previous  evening,  and  he  hesitated  to 
come  every  day  on  account  of  the  Brights. 

He  came,  however,  not  long  after  dinner.  Katha 
rine  did  not  understand  his  expression.  He  smiled 
like  a  man  in  possession  of  an  amusing  secret  which 
he  was  anxious  to  communicate  as  soon  as  an  oppor 
tunity  offered.  At  last  Mrs.  Bright  left  the  room. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Ralstoii.  "  I've  got  this  thing 
—  I  wish  you'd  look  at  it  and  tell  me  what  you 
think." 

He  produced  a  letter  and  handed  it  to  her,  with 
a  short  laugh.  She  saw  that  it  was  in  her  father's 
handwriting. 

"Read  it,"  said  John.  "It  will  make  you  open 
your  eyes.  He  has  a  most  —  peculiar  character. 
It's  coining  to  the  surface  rapidly." 

Katharine  held  out  the  envelope  to  him. 

"  You  must  take  it  out,"  she  said.  "  I've  only 
got  one  hand,  and  that's  my  left." 

"  Poor  dear ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  suppose  you'll 
have  at  least  ten  days  more  of  this." 

He  had  opened  the  letter  while  speaking  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"  Why  don't  you  read  it  to  me  yourself  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"Because  —  I'd  rather  you  should  read  it.  It's 
a  very  extraordinary  production.  He's  not  diplo 
matic —  your  father.  It's  lucky  he's  not  an  ambas- 


THE  E ALSTONS.  119 

sailor  or  one  of  those  creatures.  He  wouldn't 
cover  his  country  with  glory  in  making  treaties." 

Katharine  was  already  running  her  eye  over  the 
page,  and  her  face  expressed  her  surprise.  She 
even  turned  the  sheet  over  and  looked  at  the  signa 
ture  to  persuade  herself  that  her  father  had  really 
written  what  she  was  reading,  -for  it  was  hard  to 
believe.  As  she  proceeded,  her  brows  bent,  and  her 
lip  curled  scornfully.  Then  all  at  once  she  laughed 
with  genuine,  though  bitter,  amusement  —  the  laugh 
that  comes  from  the  head,  not  from  the  heart. 
Then  she  grew  grave  again  and  read  on  to  the 
end.  When  she  had  finished,  her  hand  with  the 
letter  in  it  fell  upon  her  knee  and  she  looked  into 
Ralston's  face  with  parted  lips,  as  though  helpless 
to  express  her  astonishment. 

In  any  jury  of  honour  the  communication  would 
have  been  accepted  as  a  formal  apology  for  every 
thing  her  father  had  done,  and  for  anything  he 
might  have  done  inadvertently.  Ralston  was 
wrong  in  'saying  that  Alexander  Junior  had  no 
talent  for  diplomacy.  Consciously  or  uncon 
sciously,  he  had  succeeded  in  writing  a  letter  in 
which  he  took  back  every  insulting  word  he  had 
spoken  of  Ralston,  either  to  his  face  or  behind  his 
back,  without  exactly  saying  that  he  meant  to  do 
so.  He  took  the  position  of  considering  it  a 
matter  of  the  highest  importance  to  sift  the  truth 
out  of  what  he  called  the  labyrinth  of  evil  speak- 


120  THE  EALSTONS. 

ing,  lying,  and  slandering,  by  which  lie  was 
assailed  on  every  side.  The  confusion  of  similes 
at  this  point  was  almost  grand  in  its  chaotic  inco 
herence,  and  it  was  here  that  Katharine  had 
laughed,  as  well  she  might.  The  honour  of  the 
family,  said  Alexander,  was  at  stake,  and  he  had 
accordingly  performed  the  operation  of  sifting  the 
attacking  and  mendacious  labyrinth.  The  result 
of  his  labour  of  love  for  Kalston's  reputation,  in 
the  interests  of  the  family  honour,  was  much  sim 
pler  than  his  alleged  mode  of  getting  at  it.  For 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he  had  ascertained, 
beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt  that  the  stories 
concerning  John's  intemperance  were  lies  —  and 
the  word  was  written  with  conscientious  calli 
graphy.  There  was  to  be  no  mistake  there.  Alex 
ander  thought  it  due  to  Ralston,  as  indeed  it 
was,  to  make  the  statement  at  once,  as  the  ultimate 
expression  of  a  carefully  formed  opinion.  With 
regards  to  any  other  differences  which  there  might 
have  been  between  them,  he  thought  that  amicable 
settlements  were  always  more  Christian,  and  gen 
erally  more  satisfactory  in  the  end.  He  should 
never  forget  that  he  had  parted  from  his  dear 
uncle  in  wrath.  Here  Katharine's  lip  curled  as 
she  remembered  what  the  nature  of  that  parting 
had  been.  He  was  sure  that  the  wish  of  the 
dear  departed  would  have  been  that  all  parties 
should  seek  peace  and  ensue  it.  "  To  ensue  "  was 


THE  R ALSTONS.  121 

a  verb  which  Katharine  had  never  understood, 
and  she  had  always  suspected  that  it  was  a  mis 
take  in  the  printing,  but  the  quotation  sounded 
well,  and  brought  up  the  rear  with  a  clang  of 
armour  of  righteousness,  so  to  say.  The  phrase 
appeared  to  be  thrown  out  as  a  suggestion  —  as 
a  very  broad  hint,  in  fact,  seeing  that  it  came 
from  him  who  had  received  the  blow,  and  not  from 
him  who  had  dealt  it. 

There  was  much  more  to  the  same  effect.  It 
was  a  very  long  letter,  covering  two  sheets  of  the 
Trust  Company's  foolscap  —  very  fine  bond  paper 
with  a  heading  in  excellent  good  taste.  But  the 
most  remarkable  point  of  all  had  been  reserved  for 
the  last  paragraph.  Therein  Alexander  Lauder- 
dale  said  that  he  did  not  abandon  all  hope,  even 
after  what  had  occurred,  of  cementing  a  union  be 
tween  the  two  surviving  branches  of  the  Lauder- 
dales,  upon  the  worldly  advantages  of  which  his 
delicacy  would  not  allow  him  to  dwell,  but  in 
which  he  thought  it  possible  and  even  probable, 
that  all  family  differences  might  be  forgotten  on 
earth.  Whether  he  expected  that  they  should 
afterwards  be  revived  in  heaven,  or  in  a  place  more 
appropriate,  he  did  not  add.  But  he  signed  him 
self  sincerely  John  Ralston' s  cousin,  Alexander 
Lauderdale  Junior,  and  it  was  quite  clear  that  he 
wished  all  he  had  said  to  be  believed. 

"  Now  isn't  that  the  most  remarkable  production 


122  THE  RALSTONS. 

of  human  genius  that  you've  ever  seen?  "  asked 
John,  as  Katharine  dropped  her  hand. 

She  slowly  nodded  her  head,  her  lips  still  parted 
in  wonder,  and  her  eyes  looked  far  away. 

"  It  came  over  to  the  bank  by  a  messenger  of  the 
Trust  Company,"  said  John.  "So  I  wrote  an  an 
swer  on  the  bank  paper  —  " 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  Katharine,  with 
sudden  anxiety,  dreading  lest  he  had  given  way  to 
some  new  outburst  of  temper. 

"What  should  I  say?  I  said  it  was  all  right. 
That  I  was  glad  he  had  found  that  I  wasn't  quite 
so  bad  as  he'd  thought.  And  I  added  at  the  end 
— •  because  he'd  put  it  there  —  that  if  there  was  any 
thing  that  I  hankered  for  and  believed  I  was  fitted 
for,  it  was  to  be  used  up  as  cement  for  the  family 
union —  'apply  while  fresh  '  — that  sort  of  thing. 
Only  of  course  I  put  it  nicely.  Oh  —  you  needn't 
be  afraid!  I  wasn't  going  to  do  anything  idiotic. 
Besides,  I  see  what  he's  driving  at.  It's  as  plain 
as  day." 

"What?  I  can'-t  understand  it,  myself  —  it  all 
seems  so  strange  and  unexpected,  arid  unlike  him." 

"  It's  as  clear  as  day,  dear.  He  knows  he  must 
come  round  some  day,  and  he's  doing  it  now,  so  that 
we  may  be  all  patched  up  and  peaceful  before  the 
hearing  about  the  will  —  that's  it.  You  know  if 
all  the  next  of  kin  appear  together  against  the  dis 
tant  relations,  it  influences  the  court's  opinion, 


THE   EALSTONS.  123 

when  the  court  has  a  choice  of  opinions,  as  it  very 
likely  will  have  in  this  case." 

"  Then  you  think  the  will  is  likely  to  be  broken?  " 

"I  don't  know.  They're  saying  to-day  that  one 
of  the  witnesses  is  mentioned  in  the  will  —  in  the 
list  of  servants  who  get  annuities,  and  that  if  the 
witnessing's  wrong,  the  will  can't  be  probated,  as 
they  call  it.  I  don't  understand  those  things." 

"And  the  Brights  will  get  nothing." 

"Nothing." 

"Poor  Ham!" 

"Yes  —  well  —  he's  got  enough  to  live  on  with 
out  forty  millions  more." 

"  It  would  have  been  a  consolation  to  him  —  oh 

Jack !     You  were  right  —  don't  say,  'I  told  you  so  ' 

—  please !     This  afternoon  he  wanted  to  —  well  he 

did  ask  me  —  he  thought  it  was  off  between  you 

and  me." 

"I  told  you  —  no,  darling,  I  won't  say  it,"  an 
swered  Ealston.  "Give  me  a  kiss,  and  I  won't 
say  it." 

He  did  not  say  it. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

LOVE,  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  said  in  her  absent- 
minded  way,  was  not  at  all  like  other  passions.  The 
words  remained  in  Katharine's  memory  and  pleased 
her  and  comforted  her  in  a  manner  which  would 
have  surprised  the  elder  woman,  had  she  guessed 
that  she  had  unintentionally  drawn  music  from  a 
human  soul  with  one  of  those  dull  and  stereotyped 
phrases  which  people  fall  back  upon  when  they 
cannot  or  will  not  explain  themselves. 

But  that  was  precisely  what  Katharine  wished  to 
believe  —  that  love  was  not  at  all  like  other  passions, 
that  it  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  in  its 
nature  to  those  which  she  had  seen  asserting  them 
selves  so  strongly  around  her,  and  of  which  she  was 
beginning  to  understand  something  by  proxy,  as  it 
were.  For  though  she  had  said  that  her  love  for 
John  Kalston  was  like  her  father's  love  of  money, 
she  did  not  in  the  least  wish  to  believe  it.  She 
attached  to  love  the  highest  interpretation  of  which 
it  is  capable;  she  attributed  to  it  the  purest  and 
most  disinterested  motives ;  she  gave  it  in  her 
thoughts  the  strongest  and  best  qualities  which 
anything  can  have. 

124 


THE  R ALSTONS.  125 

She  had  a  right  to  do  so,  and  though  she  sought 
an  explanation  of  her  right,  she  was  not  disturbed 
because  she  found  none.  She  dreamed  of  theories 
vague,  but  as  beautiful  as  they  were  untenable,  as 
men  of  ancient  times  imagined  impossible,  but 
deeply  poetic,  interpretations  of  nature  and  her 
doings.  Her  soul,  and  the  soul  of  the  man  she 
loved  had  elected  one  another  of  old  from  amongst 
myriads ;  neither  could  give  light  without  the  other, 
nor  could  either  live  without  the  other's  life.  To 
gether  they  were  one  immortal ;  separate  they  must 
perish.  The  good  of  each  was  the  triumphant 
enemy  of  evil  in  the  other,  and  the  evil  in  both  was 
gradually  to  be  driven  out  and  forgotten  in  the  per 
fection  of  the  whole. 

All  that  was  contemplative  in  her  nature  was 
entranced  before  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  imag 
ined  deity.  Little  by  little,  as  other  attachments 
were  rudely  shaken,  broken,  and  destroyed,  the  one 
of  all  others  which  she  most  valued  grew  stronger 
and  fairer  in  the  wreck  of  the  rest;  the  one  passion 
which  she  saw  was  good  towered  in  her  soul's  field 
as  an  archangel  among  devils,  spotless,  severe,  and 
invincible.  The  angel  was  not  John  Ralston,  nor 
were  the  devils  those  persons  with  whom  her  life 
had  to  do.  They  all  had  other  features,  immortal 
natures,  and  transcendent  reasoning.  At  that  time 
there  was  in  her  the  foundation  of  a  great  mythol 
ogy  of  ideals,  good  and  bad,  personified  and  almost 


126  THE  RALSTON X. 

named,  among  which  love  was  king  over  all  the 
rest,  endowed  with  divine  attributes,  with  knowledge 
of  the  human  soul,  and  power  to  move  the  human 
heart,  knowing  all  motives  and  divining  all  im 
pulses,  —  a  being  to  whom  a  prayer  might  be  said  in 
trouble,  and  whose  beneficent  hand  would  be  swift 
and  strong  to  help.  Love,  in  her  theory  of  the 
world,  was  the  prime  cause,  the  intelligent  director, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  ultimate  end.  She  and 
her  husband  were  under  his  immediate  and  especial 
protection.  If  they  were  faithful  to  him,  he  would 
shield  them  from  harm,  and  make  them  immortal 
with  himself  beyond  the  stars.  If  they  denied 
him  —  that  is,  if  they  ceased  to  love  one  another  — 
his  face  would  grow  dark,  his  right  hand  would  be 
full  of  semi-biblical  terrors,  and  he  would  abandon 
them  to  the  wicked  will  of  the  devils,  —  which  were 
the  bad  passions  the  girl  saw  in  others,  —  to  be  tor 
mented  until  they  themselves  should  be  extinguished 
in  eternal  night. 

Practically,  Katharine  had  constructed  a  religion 
for  herself  out  of  the  most  human  thing  in  her 
nature,  since  she  had  lost  the  bearings  of  anything 
higher  in  the  storms  through  which  she  had  passed. 
It  was  by  no  means  an  unassailable  religion,  nor  a 
very  logical  one,  being  derived  altogether  from  the 
exaltation  of  the  most  human  of  all  passions,  and 
having  its  details  deduced  from  the  one-sided  ex' 
perience  of  an  innocent  child.  But  that  very  inno 


THE   R  ALSTONS.  127 

cence,  that  very  impossibility  of  conceiving  that 
there  should  be  anything  not  good  in  love  that  was 
true,  gave  it  an  enormous  force  against  the  powers 
which  were  evidently  evil.  There  was  an  appear 
ance  of  inexorably  sound  reason,  too,  in  the  con 
clusion  that  all  human  motive  was  passion  of  one 
kind  or  another,  and  that  all  passions  but  love  were 
bad  and  self-destructive  in  the  end,  having  their 
foundation  in  selfishness,  and  not  in  the  other  self 
that  fills  love-dreams. 

Since  passion  and  motive  were  one  and  the  same, 
thought  Katharine,  there  could  be  no  question  as 
to  which  of  them  all  was  the  best,  since  true  love 
such  as  hers  was  the  only  passion  that  had  no  one 
of  the  seven  capital  sins  attached  to  it.  Such  an 
argument  was  manifestly  unanswerable  when  it 
came  from  her,  and  she  rejoiced  in  the  security  of 
knowing  herself  to  be  right  in  the  midst  of  many 
wrongs,  which  is  one  of  the  highest  satisfactions  of 
human  vanity  for  the  young  or  the  old.  Day  by 
day,  through  the  changing  events  of  the  past  year, 
the  conviction  had  grown,  until  it  was  now  the 
dominant  cause  and  mover  of  her  being,  and  was 
assuming  superhuman  proportions  in  her  estimated 
values  of  things  transcendent. 

Paul  Griggs,  with  his  vaguely  expressed  explana 
tions  of  things  which  meant  much,  and  meant  it 
clearly,  to  himself,  had  unconsciously  helped  Kath 
arine  to  deify  love  at  the  expense,  and  to  the  ruin, 


128  THE  RALSTONS. 

of  any  form  of  religious  belief  to  which  she  might 
have  been  inclined.  He  was  assuredly  not  one  of 
those  men  who  seem  to  make  it  their  business  to 
destroy  the  convictions  of  others,  and  to  give  them 
nothing  in  exchange  for  what  was  consolation,  if 
not  salvation.  He  was,  at  least,  a  man  who  believed 
in  belief,  so  to  say,  and  who,  perhaps,  believed  many 
things  which  must  have  seemed  utterly  incredible 
to  ordinary  beings  of  ordinary  experience.  But  he 
was  fond  of  stating  the  results  he  had  reached,  in  a 
careless  way,  which  seemed  less  than  half-serious, 
without  giving  the  smallest  hint  as  to  the  means 
by  which  he  had  obtained  them.  The  statements 
themselves  were  fragmentary :  here  a  hand,  there 
a  head,  now  a  foot,  and  next  a  bit  of  the  shoulders. 
He  was  not  conscious  of  his  fault.  To  him  the 
image  was  always  present  and  complete.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  but  calling  attention  to  one 
point  or  another  of  the  visible  whole,  when  it  seemed 
to  others  as  though  he  were  offering  them  broken 
bits,  often  unrecognizable  as  belonging  to  any  pos 
sible  image  whatsoever.  Others  sometimes  put  the 
bits  together  in  their  own  way. 

He  was  not  in  any  sense  an  ordinary  being,  nor 
one  to  be  judged  by  ordinary  standards,  though  he 
rarely  claimed  the  right  to  be  treated  as  an  excep 
tion.  The  difference  between  him  and  the  average 
man  lay  not  in  any  very  unusual  gifts,  and  many 
might  have  been  found  who,  knowing  him  well, 


THE  RALSTONS.  129 

would  have  denied  that  there  was  any  radical  differ 
ence  at  all.  He  would  certainly  have  taken  little 
pains  to  persuade  these  of  the  contrary.  Outwardly, 
he  was  a  man  of  letters  who  had  met  with  consider 
able  success  in  his  career  —  about  as  much  as  justifies 
good-natured  people  in  making  a  lion  of  an  author 
or  an  artist,  but  no  more.  He  had  written  many 
books,  and  had  learned  his  business  in  the  bitter 
struggles  which  attend  the  commencement  of  an 
average  literary  man's  life,  when  the  fight  for  bare 
existence  forces  the  slender  talent  to  bear  burdens 
too  heavy  for  its  narrow  shoulders,  along  paths  not 
easy  to  tread  for  those  most  sure  of  foot.  He  had 
some  valuable  gifts,  however,  which  had  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  He  possessed  almost  incredible  physi 
cal  strength  in  certain  ways,  without  the  heavy, 
sanguine  temperament  which  requires  regular  ex 
ercise  and  perpetual  nourishment.  His  endurance 
was  beyond  all  comparison  greater  than  that  of  men 
usually  considered  very  strong,  and  he  had  been 
able  to  bear  the  strain  of  excessive  labour  which 
would  have  killed  or  paralyzed  most  people.  That 
was  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  success.  Secondly,  he 
had  acquired  an  unusual  mechanical  facility  in  the 
handling  of  language  and  the  arrangement  of  the 
matter  he  produced,  so  as  to  give  it  the  most 
favourable  appearance  possible.  His  imagination 
was  not  abundant,  but  he  did  the  best  he  could  with 
it  under  all  circumstances,  and  answered  all  critics 

VOL.    II. 9 


180  THE  EALSTONS. 

with  the  unassailable  statement  that  he  wrote  for  a 
living  and  did  the  best  he  could,  and  sincerely  re 
gretted  that  he  was  not  Walter  Scott,  nor  Goethe, 
nor  Thackeray,  nor  any  of  the  great  ones.  That 
was  his  misfortune,  and  not  his  fault.  People 
flattered  him,  he  said,  by  telling  him  that  he  could 
do  better  if  he  tried.  It  was  not  true.  He  could 
not  do  better. 

But  in  all  these  points  he  did  not  differ  very 
widely  from  the  average  man  who  attains  to  a 
certain  permanent  and  generally  admitted  success 
by  driving  his  faculties  to  their  utmost  in  the 
struggle  for  a  living.  The  chief  difference  be 
tween  him  and  other  men  had  been  produced  by 
an  experience  of  life  under  varying  circumstances, 
such  as  an  ordinary  individual  rarely  gets,  and 
possibly  by  the  long-continued  action  of  unusual 
emotions  with  which  this  study,  or  history,  of 
Katharine  Lauderdale  can  have  nothing  to  do,  and 
which  did  not  directly  concern  his  literary  career 
nor  his  relations  with  the  world  at  large,  though 
the  outward  result  was  to  make  unthinking  people 
say  that  there  was  something  mysterious  about 
him,  which  either  attracted  them  or  repelled  them, 
according  to  their  temperaments  and  tastes.  At  all 
events,  his  life  had  tended  to  the  creation  of  a  form 
of  belief  and  a  mode  of  judgment  which  seemed 
very  simple  to  himself,  and  perfectly  incompre 
hensible  to  almost  every  one  else.  He  showed 


THE  ^ALSTONS.  131 

other  people  fragments  and  bits  of  it,  when  he 
was  in  the  humour,  and  sometimes  seemed  sur 
prised  that  those  who  heard  him  should  not  also 
understand  him.  One  of  his  fundamental  articles 
of  faith  seemed  to  be  that  life  as' a  possession  was 
of  no  value  whatsoever :  a  doctrine  which  attracted 
very  few.  But  those  who  knew  him  and  watched 
him  were  sure  that  there  was  no  affectation  in  that 
part  of  his  creed,  though  they  might  hesitate  in 
finding  reasons  for  his  belief  in  it.  It  was  strongly 
contrasted  with  his  immovable  faith  —  not  in  a 
life  to  come,  for  he  despised  the  expression  —  but 
in  the  present  fact  of  immortality.  The  mere  fact 
that  he  laughed  at  the  idea  of  '  past '  and  ( future ' 
in  their  relation  to  the  soul,  sufficiently  confused 
most  of  those  who  had  heard  him  talk  of  such  things. 
Katharine  Lauderdale  had  neither  the  man's  ex 
perience  to  help  her  in  following  him,  nor  any 
superior  genius  of  insight  to  lead  her  to  his  conclu 
sions  by  what  one  might  call  the  shorthand  of  rea 
son  —  intuition.  She  was  simply  attracted  without 
understanding,  as  so  many  people  are  nowadays, 
by  everything  which  promises  a  glimpse  at  the 
unknown,  if  not  a  knowledge  of  the  unknowable. 
She  took  the  longing  for  the  power  of  compre 
hension,  the  fragments  for  the  whole,  and  the 
crumbs  for  the  bread  of  life.  It  was  not  unnatural, 
considering  the  tendencies  of  modern  culture,  but 
it  was  unfortunate. 


132  THE  RALSTONS. 

She  halved  her  soul,  and  gave  John  Ralston  his 
share  of  it,  though  he  had  a  very  good  one  of  his 
own.  She  elaborated  a  theory  of  interchangeable 
and  interdependent  selves  for  herself  and  him, 
which  momentarily  satisfied  all  her  wants.  She 
took  his  self  with  her  own  into  the  temple  of 
love,  and  bade  it  bow  down  and  worship  with  her 
the  glorious  deification  of  human  passion  which 
she  had  set  up  there.  And  his  imaginary  self, 
being  really  but  that  part  of  her  own  being  which 
she  called  his,  consented  and  obeyed,  and  did  as 
she  did.  And  the  incense  rose  before  the  shrine, 
and  the  love-angels  chanted  love's  litany  of  praise, 
while  Love  himself  smiled  down  upon  her,  and 
told  her  that  he  was  immortal,  and  would  make 
her  deathless  for  her  belief  in  him.  The  temple 
was  beautiful  beyond  compare ;  the  deity  was 
spotless,  fair  of  form,  and  noble  of  feature  ;  the 
heart  that  worshipped  was  fresh,  unsullied,  and 
sincere.  There  had  never  been  anything  more 
perfect  than  it  all  was  in  Katharine's  imagination  ; 
and  there  could  never,  in  all  the  long  life  that  was 
before  her,  be  anything  so  perfect  again.  John 
Ralston,  single-hearted  and  deeply  loving  as  he 
was,  could  never  have  any  conception  of  the 
divinity  his  maiden  wife  adored  in  secret.  Her 
instinct  told  her  that  though  he  was  with  her,  the 
manliness  in  him  looked  at  the  world  from  another 
point  of  view ;  and  in  all  their  many  exchanges  of 


THE  E ALSTONS.  133 

thought  she  never  spoke  of  her  visions  of  blessed 
ness.  The  fact  that  she  kept  them  to  herself  gave 
them  more  strength,  and  preserved  their  intact 
beauty  in  all  its  splendid  strength  and  all  its  in 
finite  delicacy. 

In  a  certain  way  she  owed  to  Paul  Griggs  some 
of  her  sweetest  and  most  exquisite  thoughts,  of 
which  the  memory  must  be  with  her  all  her  life, 
long  after  the  humanity  of  truth  supplanted  the 
dignity  of  the  ideal.  Not  that  he  had  taught  her 
anything  of  what  he  believed  and  thought  that  he 
knew.  She,  like  the  rest,  had  received  only  frag 
ments  of  his  meaning;  but  out  of  them  she  had 
constructed  a  whole  which  was  beautiful  in  itself, 
if  nothing  else — as  lovers  of  art  have  dreamed  an 
unbroken  ideal  of  perfection  upon  bits  of  marble 
unearthed  from  the  grave  of  a  great  thing  de 
stroyed,  moulding  theories  upon  it,  and  satisfying 
their  tastes  through  it,  each  in  his  own  way,  though 
perhaps  all  very  far  from  what  was  once  the  truth. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Griggs  was  partly  re 
sponsible  for  the  eclipse  of  what,  in  her  nature, 
as  in  all,  was  essentially  necessary.  She  did  not 
at  the  present  time  feel  the  loss,  if  it  were  really 
a  loss,  and  not  a  mere  temporary  shutting  off 
of  all  higher  possibilities  from  her  mental  sight. 
She  did  not,  perhaps,  fully  realize  the  distance  to 
which  she  had  gone  in  unbelief  in  substituting  one 
ideal  for  another;  and  she  would  have  been  pro- 


134  777^   ItALSTOlfti. 

foundly  shocked  had  any  one  told  her  that  she 
had  at  the  present  time  wholly  abandoned  any 
thing  approaching  to  a  form  of  Christianity.  She 
would  have  reasoned  that  she  said  prayers,  as  she 
supposed  other  people  did ;  but  she  would  have 
found  it  hard  to  say  what  she  thought  when  she 
said  them.  Nine-tenths  of  them  were  for  John 
Ralston,  and  were  in  reality  addressed  to  the 
divinity  in  the  love  temple  —  the  remaining  ones 
were  mere  words,  and  said  in  a  perfunctory  way, 
with  a  sort  of  sincerity  of  manner,  but  with  no 
devotion  whatever,  and  no  attempt  to  strengthen 
them  with  a  belief  that  they  might  be  answered. 
She  had  been  taught  to  say  them,  and  continued 
to  say  them  with  the  conscientiousness  which  is 
born  of  habit,  before  there  can  be  any  thought 
connected  with  the  thing  done. 

Griggs  and  his  talk  had  only  contributed  to  this 
result.  The  quick  and  noiseless  destruction  of 
Katharine's  beliefs  had  been  chiefly  brought  about 
by  the  actions  of  the  persons  with  whom  she  had 
to  do,  and  by  the  collapse  of  their  principles  in 
the  face  of  difficulties,  temptations  and  tests.  It 
was  natural  that  she  should  ask  herself  of  what 
use  her  father's  blind  faith  and  rigid  practice 
could  be,  when  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  could 
diminish  his  avarice  nor  check  his  cruelty  when 
anything  or  any  one  stood  between  him  and  money. 
She  was  not  to  be  blamed  if  she  doubted  the 


THE  EALSTONS.  135 

efficacy  of  the  true  faith,  when  she  saw  her  religious 
mother  half  mad  with  envy  of  her  own  daughter's 
youth  and  beauty.  As  for  the  rest  of  them  all, 
they  did  not  pretend  to  be  religious  people.  Their 
misdeeds  killed  her  faith  in  human  nature,  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  ordinary  key  to  that  state  of  mind 
which  believes  in  God,  though  it  is  by  no  means 
the  only  one. 

Had  she  been  able  to  discern  and  analyze  what 
was  going  on  in  her  own  heart,  she  would  have 
seen  that  her  difficulty  was  the  old  one.  The 
existence  of  evil  in  the  world  disproved  to  her 
the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Power  which  was  all 
good.  But  she  neither  analyzed  nor  discerned. 
It  was  sufficient  for  her  that  the  earthly  evil  facts 
existed  to  assure  her  that  the  heavenly,  transcen 
dent  Power  was  an  impossibility.  She  never  made 
the  statement  to  herself,  but  she  unconsciously  took 
it  for  granted  in  substituting  one  divinity  for  the 
other.  John  Ralston  said  that  he  'believed  in 
things'  —  and  did,  vaguely.  But  she  had  never 
found  it  possible  to  bring  him  to  any  concise  state 
ment  of  what  his  beliefs  were.  And  yet  he  was, 
in  her  loving  opinion,  by  far  the  morally  best  of 
all  the  men  and  women  she  had  ever  known.  He 
did  not  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  as  her  father 
did.  She  believed  that  he  never  went  to  church 
at  all,  in  fact.  But  there  was  no  denying  the 
superiority  of  a  man  who  had  bravely  overcome 


136  THE  RALSTON S. 

such  temptation  as  John  Ralston  had  formerly 
had  to  deal  with,  over  one  who,  like  her  father, 
believed,  trembled,  and  nevertheless  gave  himself 
up  wholly  to  his  evil  passion. 

So  she  had  lost  her  belief  in  human  nature. 
But  as  she  could  not  afford  to  lose  her  belief  in 
the  man  she  loved,  she  had  taken  him  out  of  the 
rest  of  humanity,  and  made  him  the  half  of  herself, 
so  that  they  two  stood  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
and  had  their  temple  to  themselves,  and  their  little 
god  to  themselves,  and  their  faith  and  belief  and 
religious  practice  altogether  to  themselves,  though 
John  Ralston  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  fact.  But 
that  made  no  difference  to  Katharine.  He  was  in 
her  earthly  paradise,  though  he  did  not  know  it, 
and  was  as  sincere  a  worshipper  of  the  divinity  as 
she  herself. 

In  this  way  she  excepted  both  him  and  her  from 
common  humanity,  and  was  sure  that  she  had 
found  the  true  path  which  leads  to  the  fields  of 
the  blessed.  Love  was  the  centre  of  hope  and 
the  circumference  of  life ;  it  was  the  air  she 
breathed,  the  thoughts  she  thought,  and  the  actions 
she  performed.  There  was  nothing  else.  And  since 
eternity  was  the  present,  as  Griggs  said,  there  was 
no  hereafter,  and  so  there  could  never  be  anything 
but  love,  even  after  men  ceased  to  count  time. 
In  the  midst  of  the  prosaic  surroundings  of  a 
society  life,  as  in  the  midst  of  the  great  and  evil 


THE  RALSTONS.  137 

passions  which  do  devilish  deeds  just  below  the 
calm,  luxurious  and  dull  surface,  there  was  one 
true  idealist,  one  maiden  soul  that  dreamed  of 
love's  immortality,  and  placed  hers  in  love's  heart 
of  hearts. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  letter  Alexander  Lauderdale  Junior  had 
written  to  Ralston  will  have  given  some  idea  of 
what  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of 
having  the  will  annulled.  A  moral  degeneration 
had  begun  in  him,  which  might  go  far  in  the  end. 
The  passion  he  had  so  long  tried  to  conceal,  with 
considerable  success,  and  which  had  fed  for  many 
years  on  a  small  object,  was  stirred  up  and  set  at 
large  by  the  enormous  wealth  now  at  stake.  The 
man's  pride  shrank  away  before  it,  and  even  his 
rigid  principles  wavered.  He  began  .to  make  those 
compromises  with  his  conscience  which  circum 
stances  suggested,  and  he  forced  his  religious  habits 
to  help  in  doing  the  dirty  work  of  his  greed.  In  a 
lower  walk  of  life,  perhaps,  such  a  man,  in  such  a 
situation,  would  have  committed  crimes  to  obtain 
the  money.  Alexander  Junior  robbed  his  own  soul, 
and  murdered  his  own  conscience.  We  shall  know 
some  day  what  difference  there  is  between  that 
and  murder  in  the  first  degree. 

It  was  not  an  affair  of  a  few  days.  Such  a  char 
acter  could  not  change  easily  nor  quickly,  either 
for  better  or  for  worse.  For  years  the  thought  of 
138 


THE  EALSTONS.  139 

his  uncle's  money  had  been  constantly  present 
with  him,  and  for  many  years  he  had  dreamt  the 
miser's  dream  of  endless  gold.  There  was  nothing 
new  in  it,  nor,  of  itself,  had  it  ever  disturbed  the 
equanimity  of  his  well-practised  righteousness.  It 
had  never  even  occurred  to  him  that  in  not  spending 
his  hoarded  income  he  was  wronging  any  one.  He 
had  regarded  his  wife's  painting  and  selling  her 
miniatures  as  a  wholesome  occupation,  and  as  what 
certain  persons  call  a  moral  discipline.  The  prin 
ciples  of  economy  which  he  forced  his  house 
hold  to  practise  were  agreeable  to  the  ascetic 
disposition  which  in  a  greater  or  less  degree 
showed  itself  in  the  Scotch  blood  of  the  Lauder- 
dales.  Economy  was  a  means  of  feeling  that  he 
was  better  than  other  people,  and,  axiomatically,  it 
cost  nothing,  and  helped  to  satisfy  his  main  passion. 
Only  his  sense  of  social  importance,  which  was 
strong  and  hereditary,  had  hindered  him  from 
actually  reducing  his  establishment  to  a  condition 
of  positive  penury.  But  that  would  have  been  im 
possible,  because  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
conceal  it.  He  preserved  the  limits  so  carefully 
that,  while  every  one  said  that  the  Lauderdales 
lived  very  quietly,  no  one  ever  thought  of  saying 
that  they  lived  poorly.  Then,  too,  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale  was  herself  an  excellent  manager,  and  had 
long  been  deceived  by  her  husband's  assurance  that 
he  was  poor  and  wholly  dependent  upon  the  salary 


140  THE  R ALSTONS. 

he  received  from  the  Trust  Company,  in  which  he 
held  no  interest,  as  he  could  always  easily  prove. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  though  he  practically  directed 
the  affairs  of  the  Company  himself,  he  considered 
United  States'  bonds  as  a  safer  investment.  He 
did  not  consider  that  he  was  deceiving  his  wife, 
either.  In  his  own  opinion  he  was  poor.  What 
was  a  million  ?  There  were  some  who  had  nearly 
two  hundred  millions.  Scores,  perhaps  hundreds, 
in  the  country  had  more  than  fifty  millions.  What 
was  a  million  ?  Was  not  a  man  poor  who  had  but 
one  dollar  when  his  neighbour  had  two  hundred  ? 
It  was  no  business  of  his  wife's,  nor  of  any  one  else, 
if  he  had  something  put  away.  It  had  always 
been  possible,  within  the  limits  of  the  law,  that  his 
uncle  might  leave  him  nothing.  So  he  had  practised 
economy,  and  grown  rich  secretly. 

But  all  his  hardly  hoarded  savings  were  but  as  a 
drop  to  the  sea  of  gold  which  surged  upon  the 
horizon  of  his  hopes  when  he  thought  of  Robert 
Lauderdale's  death,  and  which  rushed  forward  all 
at  once  to  his  very  feet,  as  soon  as  the  old  man 
was  really  dead.  It  washed  away  his  elaborately 
drawn  pattern  of  morality,  as  the  tide  obliterates 
the  figures  a  child  has  scrawled  upon  the  sand ;  it 
rose  by  quick  degrees,  and  flowed  higher  than  the 
rigid  landmarks  which  he  had  driven  like  stakes 
into  the  flat  expanses  of  his  soul ;  it  boiled  up  and 
sucked  back  the  earth  from  beneath  the  very  foun- 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  141 

dations  of  the  chapel  of  ease  he  had  built  for  his 
conscience,  over  his  own  little  spring  of  wealth, 
when  all  the  shore  had  been  dry  and  arid,  and  the 
golden  ocean  very  far  off. 

The  long  cherished  hope  had  prepared  the  cir 
cumstances  for  the  reality.  He  meant  now  to  have 
at  least  half  the  fortune,  or  perish  in  the  attempt 
to  get  it.  That  is,  he  was  ready  to  spend  even 
what  he  had  saved,  in  order  to  get  possession  of 
the  greater  sum.  And  he  was  far  more  ready  to 
spend  other  things,  such  as  his  pride  and  his  man 
liness.  He  was  ready  and  willing  to  lay  the  shears 
to  his  gai'ment  of  righteousness,  and  to  clip  and  cut 
it  to  the  very  limits  of  moral  decency,  leaving  but 
enough  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  his  miserly  soul. 

Therefore  he  had  written  that  letter  to  John 
Ralston,  and  one  something  like  it  to  John's  mother, 
believing  it  probable  that  she  had  been  told  by  her 
son  of  much  that  had  taken  place.  His  lawyer  had 
told  him  that  if  the  will  were  probated,  and  if  it 
became  necessary  to  attack  it  on  other  grounds,  it 
would  be  of  the  highest  importance  that  the  next 
of  kin  should  act  in  concert  against  the  distant  re 
lations  who  had  been  so  highly  favoured.  It  became 
his  business,  therefore,  to  make  sure  of  having  the 
Kalstons  on  his  side. 

He  distrusted  them,  after  what  had  happened. 
He  knew  that  they  cared  little  for  money,  and 
much  for  a  certain  kind  of  sentiment  which  was 


142  THE  EALSTONS. 

quite  foreign  to  him,  and  he  believed  them  capable 
of  opposing  him,  merely  in  order  that  the  dead 
man's  wishes  might  be  carried  out.  The  situation 
in  which  he  found  himself  was  an  unexpected  one, 
too.  He  had  been  taken  by  surprise  and  obliged 
to  act  at  short  notice,  and  he  was  no  diplomatist. 
He  merely  took  the  first  means  which  offered  for 
carrying  out  his  lawyer's  idea.  The  will  itself  was 
of  an  unusual  character.  He  had  expected  that  his 
uncle  would  either  divide  the  fortune  between  the 
next  of  kin,  in  trusts  for  their  children,  with  a 
legacy  to  the  Brights,  or  that  he  would  make  some 
thing  like  an  equal  distribution  amongst  all  the 
living  members  of  the  family.  He  had  long  cher 
ished,  however,  the  secret  hope  that  as  his  own 
branch  of  the  family  was  the  most  numerous,  and 
as  he  himself  had  such  an  unassailable  character 
for  uprightness  and  economy,  the  largest  share 
might  be  placed  in  his  hands  for  administration,  if 
not  actually  as  his  own  property.  He  had  been 
disappointed,  and  he  considered  the  will  a  piece  of 
flagrant  injustice. 

Many  outsiders  shared  his  opinion,  and  asked 
one  another  why  the  Brights  should  have  so  much, 
and  Alexander  Junior  had  the  satisfaction  of  feel 
ing  that  his  action  would  be  approved  by  a  large 
number  of  hard-headed  business  men  amongst  his 
acquaintances.  His  lawyer,  too,  was  encouraged  by 
this  fact,  and  looked  forward  confidently  to  pocket- 


THE  ^ALSTONS.  143 

ing  an  enormous  fee.  He  was  a  man  as  hard 
headed,  as  upright,  and  as  spotless  in  reputation  as 
his  client,  and  the  high  morality  of  their  united 
forces  was  imposing. 

If  Alexander  had  conceived  it  possible  that  Mrs. 
Ralston  and  her  son  could  agree  to  have  no  opinion 
in  the  matter,  but  to  abide  by  their  lawyer's  judg 
ment,  and  let  him  act  as  he  thought  best,  he  might 
have  spared  himself  the  trouble  and  humiliation  of 
writing  the  letter  to  John.  He  would  have  known 
that  Mr.  Henry  Brett  was  not  the  man  to  advise 
his  clients  against  taking  their  rights  without  any 
regard  to  sentiment,  and  Alexander's  joy  was  great 
when  he  found  that  Brett  was  with  him  —  a  much 
younger  man  than  his  own  lawyer,  but  keen,  busi 
ness-like,  and  of  excellent  standing.  Brett  had 
married  the  widow  of  the  notorious  forger  and  de 
faulter,  John  Darche,  and  had  diminished  neither 
his  popularity  nor  his  credit  by  so  doing. 

Alexander  reproached  himself  in  a  way  that  would 
have  surprised  his  former  virtue,  for  having  so  bit 
terly  opposed  Katharine's  marriage  with  John 
Ralston.  He  really  could  not  conceive  how  he 
could  ever  have  attached  so  much  importance  to 
the  young  fellow's  youthful  follies.  It  was  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world^  as  it  seemed 
to  him  now,  that  with  the  prospect  of  boundless 
wealth  the  boy  should  have  idled  away  his  time 
and  amused  himself  as  other  boys  did.  His  mind 


144  THE  EALSTONS. 

was  full  of  excuses  for  Ralston.  What  he  could 
not  pardon,  he  allowed  to  be  swamped  by  the  gold- 
flood  as  soon  as  it  presented  itself.  That  one  un^ 
pardonable  thing  was  the  blow  he  had  received. 
When  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  it,  and  when 
it  stung  his  manliness  —  for  he  was  a  brave  man  — 
he  took  pains  to  recollect  that  he  had  at  once  got 
John  by  the  throat,  and  would  probably  have 
broken  some  of  his  bones  for  him,  if  Katharine's 
hurt  had  not  interrupted  the  struggle.  It  was 
not  as  though  he  had  received  a  blow  tamely, 
without  retaliation.  His  blood  had  been  up,  and 
Ralston  must  have  got  the  worst  of  it  if  circum 
stances  had  not  obliged  him  to  pause  in  his  ven 
geance.  Nothing  can  equal  the  unconscious  sophistry 
of  a  man  whose  main  passion  requires  that  he  shall 
not  feel  that  he  has  been  insulted. 

And  so  matters  proceeded.  The  Brights'  lawyer 
did  his  best  to  force  the  will  to  probate.  The 
Lauderdales'  and  Ralstons'  legal  advisers  created 
delays,  and  as  they  were  in  possession  of  the  will, 
they  were  able  to  prolong  the  situation,  and  prepare 
for  action.  Old  Robert  Lauderdale's  lawyer,  Mr. 
Allen,  was  moreover  their  ally.  He  did  not  believe 
that  the  will  was  good,  and  resented  the  way  in 
which  his  deceased  client  had  surreptitiously  em 
ployed  a  young  fellow  like  Russell,  before  men 
tioned,  to  draw  it  up,  after  he,  Allen,  had  drawn  up 
one  which  had  been  irreproachable.  The  first  point 


'NIVERSfTY 


'     - 

THE  R ALSTONS.  145 


that  arose  was  in  connection  with  one  of  the 
witnesses,  who  was  unluckily  not  forthcoming. 
The  signature  was  that  of  one  '  John  Simons.'  In 
the  list  of  servants  who  were  to  receive  annuities 
appeared  the  name  of  one  f  J.  Simmons/  a  groom, 
who,  strange  to  say,  was  not  to  be  found  either. 
The  Lauderdale  lawyers  maintained  that  the  wit 
ness  and  the  servant  were  the  same  person,  and 
that  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  spelling  the  name 
in  the  list ;  a  fact  which  would  have  debarred  the 
will  from  probate,  as  no  legatee  can  be  a  witness. 
This  forced  the  Bright  lawyers  to  ask  time  in  order 
to  find  either  the  witness  or  the  groom,  or  both,  and 
meanwhile  the  other  side  looked  into  the  will  itself 
in  search  of  irregularities  connected  with  the  sus 
pension  of  the  power  of  alienation,  and  the  like. 
Mr.  George  W.  Kussell,  who  had  drawn  up  the  will, 
looked  on  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  was 
'  interested  in  the  show '  from  a  purely  artistic  point 
of  view. 

The  parties  began  to  rage  furiously  together. 
Alexander  Junior  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he 
remembered  the  groom  Simmons,  and  that  his  name 
was  John.  He  assuredly  believed  that  he  did  re 
member  the  fact,  or  he  would  not  have  said  so. 
But  Hamilton  Bright  remembered,  with  equal  cer 
tainty,  that  the  man  had  more  than  once  gone  with 
him  when  he  had  been  consulted,  as  an  authority, 
about  the  buying  of  horses  for  old  Robert,  and 

VOL.    II.  10 


146  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

that  his  name  was  James.  He  had  called  him 
James,  and  the  man  had  answered  to  his  name. 
That  was  proof  positive.  The  servants  of  the 
accused  did  not  know  anything  about  it.  The  man 
had  always  been  called  Persimmons,  because  he 
lisped  a  little.  He  had  been  badly  kicked  by  a 
horse  during  Mr.  Lauderdale's  last  days,  and  had 
been  sent  to  St.  Luke's  Hospital.  At  the  hospital 
it  was  ascertained  that  he  had  been  discharged  in 
a  few  days.  He  had  not  come  back  to  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale's.  He  probably  had  some  good  reason  for  not 
coming  back.  It  had  been  one  of  his  duties  to 
buy  certain  things  for  the  stables.  Possibly  he  had 
been  dishonest  and  feared  discovery.  Mr.  Russell, 
privately  questioned,  said  that  the  man  who  had 
signed  the  will  as  a  witness  might  have  been  a  ser 
vant,  and  added,  a  few  seconds  later,  that  as  he 
had  not  been  present  when  the  will  was  signed,  he 
did  not  know.  He  was  young  enough  to  laugh  to 
himself  at  his  own  pretended  hesitation.  He  had 
drawn  up  the  will.  When  or  where  it  had  been 
signed  and  witnessed  was  beyond  his  knowledge. 

The  other  witnesses  said  that  from  his  appear 
ance  the  man  might  have  been  a  respectable  ser 
vant.  He  was  clean  shaven,  and  might  have  been 
a  groom.  They  had  not  heard  him  speak,  so  that 
they  did  not  know  whether  he  lisped  or  not.  They 
had  never  seen  him  before,  and  he  had  been  in  the 
room  when  they  had  been  called  in.  They  had 


THE  It  ALSTONS.  147 

seen  him  write  his  name,  and  were  prepared  to 
swear  to  it.  They  should  also  recognize  him  if  they 
saw  him.  Mr.  liussell,  privately  questioned,  said 
that  he  had  copied  the  name  <J.  Simmons'  with  a 
list  of  names  given  him  by  Mr.  Lauderdale  for  the 
purpose.  It  had  not  struck  him  that  it  was  in 
formal  to  insert  only  the  initial,  since  there  was  no 
other  Simmons,  a  servant,  in  the  house  at  the  time. 
He  was  told  severely,  by  the  Brights'  lawyer,  that  it 
was.  He  said  he  regretted  the  fact,  and  put  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  looked  on  again. 

Crowdie,  who  never  swore,  anathematized  Alex 
ander  Junior  in  the  dialect  of  the  Paris  studios,  a 
language  which  Alexander  could  not  have  under 
stood.  Bright,  who  had  driven  cattle  in  the  Naci- 
miento  Valley,  spoke  differently.  Aunt  Maggie's 
charity  suddenly  ceased  to  be  universal,  and  ex 
cluded  both  Lauderdales  and  Ralstons  from  its 
benefits.  From  Washington,  Charlotte  Slayback 
wrote  an  unusually  affectionate  letter  to  her  sister 
Katharine,  in  which  she  playfully  compared  the 
fair-haired  aunt  Maggie  and  Hamilton  Bright  to  a 
lioness  and  her  whelp,  and  all  the  tribe  of  Lauder 
dales  to  poor  little  innocent  lambs  with  blue  rib 
bons  round  their  necks.  Benjamin  Slayback  of 
Nevada,  Member  of  Congress,  said  nothing.  He 
was  a  singular  man,  having  mines  of  silver  of  his 
own,  and  his  solitary  pleasure  was  in  giving  his 
wife  much  money,  because  she  had  none  of  her 


148  THE  RALSTONS. 

own.  He  reflected  that  if  she  were  suddenly  made 
rich  in  her  own  right,  his  pleasure  would  be  greatly 
diminished.  But  on  the  whole,  he  believed  in 
respecting  dead  men's  wishes,  in  spite  of  legal  for 
malities.  He  had  known  wills  made  by  word  of 
mouth  by  men  who  had  bullets  in  them  before  wit 
nesses  who  had  put  the  bullets  there,  but  who  were 
scrupulous  in  carrying  out  the  instructions  of  the 
departed.  He  was  a  lawyer  himself,  however,  and 
took  an  interest  in  the  case.  He  talked  of  running 
up  to  New  York,  from  Friday  to  Monday,  to  have  a 
look  at  things,  and  a  guess  at  which  way  the  cat 
would  jump. 

Then  Leek,  the  butler,  who  was  anxious  about 
his  annuity,  found  Persimmons,  the  groom,  in  a 
down-town  stable,  and  showed  him  how  important 
it  was  for  them  both  that  he  should  at  once  go  and 
swear  that  he  was  not  the  John  Simons  who  had 
signed  the  will,  which  he  immediately  did.  But 
on  being  confronted  with  the  other  witnesses,  they 
said  that  the  signer  had  been  clean  shaven,  and 
about  of  the  same  height ;  that  the  room  had  been 
dimly  lighted,  and  that  they  were  not  prepared  to 
swear  that  Persimmons  was  not  the  signer.  Then 
Persimmons,  being  indignant,  and  having  had  two 
goes  of  whiskey  with  Leek,  lifted  up  his  voice,  and 
swore  to  his  own  identity,  and  gave  an  account  of 
himself,  and  declared  that  his  name  was  not  and 
never  had  been  John  Simons,  nor  J.  Simmons,  nor 


THE  RALSTON 8.  149 

Persimmons,  because  he  was  not  a  Simmons  at  all, 
but  one  James  Thwaito,  and  had  changed  his  name 
when  lie  left  Kngland,  because  he  had  been  unjustly 
disqualified  as  a  jockey,  for  roping  Mr.  Cranstoun's 
mare  in  the  Thousand  Guineas.  All  of  which 
further  complicated  matters,  while  the  other  wit 
nesses  grew  more  and  more  conscientiously  sure 
that  he  was  the  man  who  had  signed  with  them, 
and  wished  to  see  him  in  a  brown  jacket.  Per 
simmons  owned  that  lie  possessed  such  a  garment, 
but  refused  to  put  it  on  to  play  Punch  and  Judy 
for  a  couple  of  noodles,  which  almost  produced 
a  free  fight  in  Mr.  Brett's  private  office,  and  did 
not  improve  things  at  all,  for  the  two  witnesses 
promptly  swore  that  this  was  the  same  Persim 
mons  who  had  signed  with  them,  and  they  should 
have  liked  to  know  whether  a  disqualified  jockey 
were  a  proper  person  to  sign  with  respectable  per 
sons  like  themselves  —  they  should  like  to  know 
that,  once  for  all.  And  they  departed,  much  ruffled. 
Privately  questioned,  Mr.  Russell  said  that  he  had 
given  Mr.  Lauderdale  no  advice  as  to  the  selection 
of  his  witnesses.  He  supposed  that  Mr.  Lauder 
dale,  who  had  made  at  least  two  other  wills  in  the 
course  of  his  life,  might  have  been  expected  to  un 
derstand  what  was  required  of  witnesses.  The 
Brights'  legal  adviser  told  him  that  it  was  the  duty 
of  a  lawyer  to  tell  his  client  how  to  make  the  signa 
tures  on  a  will  legal.  Mr.  Russell  thrust  his  hands 


150  THE  RALSTONS. 

into  his  pockets  and  looked  on.  But  the  Brights' 
lawyer  began  to  think  that  things  looked  queer, 
and  that  he  might  not  get  the  will  through  probate 
after  all.  He  had  not  expected  such  a  check  at 
the  outset.  He  had  anticipated  a  fight  over  much 
more  complicated  questions. 

The  Brights  tried  to  ascertain  whether  the  court 
would  admit  the  will  to  probate  on  the  testimony 
of  the  two  reliable  witnesses.  It  seemed  pretty 
clear  that  the  court  would  not  hear  of  it.  There 
had  been  a  recent  case,  argued  the  Brights,  in  which 
the  testimony  of  one  witness  had  been  held  to  be 
sufficient  to  establish  the  signatures  of  the  others, 
though  at  least  one  of  the  others  was  living  at  the 
time  in  a  remote  part  of  the  world.  They  were 
told  that  this  was  all  very  well,  but  that  in  the  case 
quoted  there  had  been  no  question  of  any  one  of  the 
witnesses  being  a  legatee,  still  less  of  that  one  hav 
ing  given  an  assumed  name  and  not  being  an  Ameri 
can  citizen,  and  that  furthermore,  in  that  case, 
there  had  been  no  prospect  of  any  litigation  arising 
between  the  heirs,  because  there  had  been  only 
one  heir,  and  excepting  two  small  ^  legacies,  he 
would  have  got  the  fortune  just  as  surely  if  the 
deceased  had  died  intestate;  and  finally,  that  the 
Brights  had  better  not  come  into  court  with  any 
such  trumped-up  case,  which  was  unkind  to  the 
Brights,  because  the  will  was  in  their  favour,  and 
they  were  not  trumping  up  a  case,  but  defending 
one. 


THE  RALSTONS.  151 

Then  Persimmons,  finding  that  eighty  millions 
of  money  depended  upon  his  having  signed  or  not 
signed  the  will,  and  that  no  one  had,  as  y  et,  offered 
him  so  much  as  a  drink,  save  Leek,  the  butler,  went 
privately  to  Alexander  Lauderdale  Junior,  and 
made  certain  propositions  which  immediately  re 
sulted  in  his  being  kicked  into  the  middle  of  Broad 
Street  by  an  unfeeling  person  in  brass  buttons, 
who  answered  to  the  name  of  Donald  McCracken, 
having  red  hair,  large  bones,  and  a  Scotch  accent  — 
very  terrible. 

On  the  advice  of  friends,  Persimmons  attempted 
to  recover  damages  for  indignities  and  bruises  re 
ceived  on  the  premises  of  the  Trust  Company,  and 
the  popular  feeling  in  the  stables  was  with  him. 
But  he  got  nothing  but  the  promise  of  more  kicks, 
payable  at  sight,  by  Donald  McCracken,  and  the 
hexecrations  of  Mister  Leek  who  perceived  that  'is 
hannuity  was  vanishing  before  'is  very  heyes. 

And  now  no  lawyer  would  make  bold  to  say  in 
his  heart  whether  Persimmons  had  signed  or  had 
not  signed,  and  the  war  raged  furiously,  and  the 
Lauderdales,  being  in  possession  of  the  will,  swore 
that  they  would  bring  it  to  probate  without  delay, 
and  that  the  Brights  ought  to  be  very  much  pleased 
at  this,  as  they  had  been  so  anxious  to  get  the  will 
probated  without  delay.  But  the  Brights  were 
less  anxious  to  do  so  than  they  had  been  a  few 
days  earlier,  and  looked  about  them  for  means 


152  THE  RALSTONS. 

of  strengthening  testimony.     Also,  the  whole  story 
was  well  ventilated  in  the  newspapers. 

Then  came  a  man  privately  to  Hamilton  Bright 
and  said  that  he  was  John  Simons,  who  spelled  his 
name  in  the  right  way,  and  had  been  the  witness  of 
the  will.  He  was  in  difficulties,  and  was  obliged 
to  hide  from  his  creditors  ;  but  if  a  small  sum  of 
money  were  forthcoming  —  and  so  forth.  Bright 
looked  at  him,  and  he  was  clean-shaven,  and  of 
average  height,  and  wore  a  brown  jacket.  Bright 
hesitated,  and  then  called  the  other  witnesses,  who 
unhesitatingly  swore  that  the  man  who  had  signed 
was  Persimmons  and  not  this  Simons.  And  noth 
ing  more  was  heard  of  the  man  in  the  brown 
jacket  to  this  day.  But  another  clean-shaven  man 
of  average  height  with  another  sort  of  brown 
jacket  appeared  the  next  morning,  and  many  more 
after  him,  very  much  alike.  But  the  departure 
of  them  from  the  office  was  much  more  precipitate 
than  that  of  the  first.  And  this  also  was  in  the 
morning  and  evening  papers,  and  still  the  will  was 
unprobated,  and  lay  in  Mr.  Allen's  safe.  After 
that  the  lawyers  on  each  side  began  to  accuse  one 
another  of  causing  delay,  and  while  they  were 
quarrelling  about  it  the  delay  continued,  and  the 
public  jeered,  and  the  actors  at  Harrigan  and 
Hart's  introduced  jokes  about  the  Lauderdale  will 
which  brought  the  house  down,  until  Teddy  Van 
De  Water,  chancing  to  be  in  the  audience,  took 


THE  EALSTONS.  153 

friendly  action,  and  requested  that  the  name  should 
not  be  introduced  in  future.  At  this  the  public 
of  the  theatre  took  offence,  and  called  all  the  Lau- 
derdales  gilt-edged  galoots,  and  by  other  similar 
epithets  commonly  applied  to  the  Four  Hundred 
by  a  godless  population  which  has  not  the  fear  of 
millions  before  its  eyes,  but  rather  a  desire  for  the 
same. 

About  this  time  the  quality  of  the  cigars  smoked 
by  Alexander  Lauderdale  Senior  suddenly  improved 
at  a  wonderful  and  miraculous  rate,  so  that  in  a 
few  days  he  was  brought  by  successive  stages  of 
delight  from  the  'Old  Virginia  Cheroot,'  at  ten  cents 
for  a  package  of  five,  to  the  refinement  of  Havanas, 
at  thirty  cents  apiece,  after  which  of  his  own  ac 
cord  he  returned  to  what  are  known  as  Eden 
Bouquets  from  Park  and  Tilford's.  He  smoked 
in  silent  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  an  old  man's 
cunning  curiosity,  and  not  without  much  inter 
nal  amusement.  Reporters  also  came  often  to 
see  him,  ostensibly  to  make  enquiries  about  the 
vast  charities  in  which  he  was  chiefly  interested ; 
but  in  reality  they  came  cynically  to  have  a  look 
at  him,  and  to  tell  the  public  what  probabilities 
of  life  remained  to  him  in  which  to  enjoy  his  half 
of  the  Lauderdale  fortune.  Most  of  them  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  might  live  many  years 
longer. 

In  the    Lauderdale  household  there   was  peace 


154  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

during  these  days.  Katharine  had  returned,  and 
had  been  received  by  her  father  with  reticent 
affection,  and  nothing  more  had  been  said  about 
her  offering  an  apology  for  her  hasty  speeches. 
From  time  to  time  the  Ralstons  were  spoken  of  in 
connection  with  the  family  affairs,  and  then  Alex 
ander  suggested  to  his  wife  that  they  might  be 
asked  to  dinner.  It  would,  in  his  favourite  phrase, 
tend  to  cement  the  union  between  the  two  branches 
of  the  family  which  stood  together  in  the  great 
contention,  pitted  against  the  B rights  and  the 
Crowdies. 

They  came,  and  their  coming  was  an  event. 
Even  the  servants  took  an  interest  in  it.  Ralston 
and  Lauderdale  shook  hands  rather  spasmodically, 
and  each  looked  at  Katharine's  arm  a  moment 
later,  recalling  the  words  they  had  exchanged  when 
they  had  last  met,  and  the  blow  and  the  struggle 
after  it,  and  many  other  things  of  a  similar  nature. 
The  Ralstons  were  very  quiet,  but  behaved  natu 
rally  and  made  conversation,  avoiding  the  subject 
of  the  will  as  much  as  possible.  After  dinner 
John  and  Katharine  sat  in  a  corner  for  nearly  half 
an  hour,  as  they  used  to  do  long  ago  in  the  early 
days  of  their  love-making,  and  Alexander  Junior 
seemed  well  satisfied,  and  resolutely  turned  his 
back  on  them  and  talked  with  Mrs.  Ralston. 

John  remembered  having  told  his  mother,  when 
Katharine  was  still  at  the  Brights',  that  the  next 


THE  B ALSTONS.  155 

time  Katharine  entered  her  father's  house  she 
should  go  as  his  wife ;  but  fate  had  managed  mat 
ters  otherwise.  Until  the  question  of  the  fortune 
was  settled,  it  would  be  as  well  to  keep  the  mar 
riage  a  secret.  It  could  only  be  a  question  of  days 
now.  That  was  clear  enough  from  Alexander's 
face,  which  expressed  his  certainty  of  triumph  as 
clearly  as  his  cold  features  could  express  anything. 
His  electric  smile  flashed  more  frequently  than  it 
had  done  for  many  years,  and  his  steely  eyes  glit 
tered  in  the  light.  But  he  had  grown  thin  of  late, 
for  it  was  hard  to  wait  so  long  before  realizing  the 
miser's  dream. 

In  the  night,  when  he  lay  awake,  he  had  a  wild 
idea  which  haunted  him  in  the  dark  hours,  though 
it  never  crossed  his  brain  during  the  daylight.  He 
thought  of  realizing  a  whole  million  in  gold  coin, 
and  of  revelling  in  the  delight  of  pouring  it  from 
one  hand  to  another.  He  had  a  million  of  his  own, 
in  a  very  realizable  shape,  but  somehow  he  would 
not  have  risked  that,  so  long  as  he  had  not  a  sec 
ond.  Some  one  might  rob  him  —  one  could  never 
tell.  He  should  like  to  be  alone  with  the  gold  in 
his  own  room  for  one  hour,  and  then  know  that  it 
was  safe.  He  considered  whether  the  gas-light  in 
his  dressing-room  were  strong  enough  to  make  the 
metal  glitter.  Electric  light  would  be  better. 

It  was  a  childish  thought,  and  in  the  daytime 
he  paid  no  attention  to  it,  but  at  night  it  came 


156  THE  RALSTOXS. 

upon  him  like  hunger  or  thirst,  drying  his  lips  and 
driving  away  sleep.  Then,  in  order  to  quiet  his 
brain,  he  had  to  promise  himself  that  he  would 
really  do  the  thing  he  longed  to  do  as  soon  as  it 
lay  in  his  power.  But  in  the  morning,  when  he 
stood  before  his  shaving-glass,  and  looked  into  his 
own  hard  eyes,  he  laughed  scornfully. 

So  things  went  on  for  a  few  days  more.  Then 
Alexander  arose  and  said  that  there  should  be  no 
more  delay,  but  that  the  will  should  be  brought  to 
probate  at  the  next  session  of  the  court,  which  does 
not  sit  every  day.  And  then  the  excitement  grew 
more  intense,  and  the  Brights  and  the  Lauderdales 
avoided  one  another  in  the  street.  Ealston  still 
went  regularly  to  the  bank  and  saw  Hamilton 
Bright  every  day.  But  though  they  were  friends 
still,  and  there  had  been  no  unfriendly  word  spoken 
between  them,  they  met  as  little  as  possible  and 
merely  nodded  quickly  when  a  meeting  was  un 
avoidable.  But  Ealston  was  displeased  by  the 
notice  he  attracted  whenever  he  got  up  from  his 
seat  or  sat  down  again.  Occasionally  an  acquaint 
ance  of  one  of  the  numerous  young  gentlemen  in 
the  bank  came  in,  and  it  was  rarely  that,  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  his  friend,  the 
stranger  did  not  turn  and  glance  at  John,  where 
he  sat.  Ralston  did  not  like  it,  but  he  could  do 
nothing  against  it. 

Then   came    the    day   of    judgment.      Without 


THE  EALSTONS.  157 

warning  the  Brights  produced  a  man  whom  they 
believed  to  be  the  real  John  Simons,  and  who 
swore  that  he  had  signed  the  will  in  the  presence 
of  the  testators  and  in  the  presence  of  the  other 
witnesses. 

This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  the  Lauderdale  side. 
But  the  other  witnesses  had  previously  sworn  to 
and  signed  a  statement,  extracted  from  them  by 
the  Lauderdales,  to  the  effect  that  Persimmons  was 
the  man  who  had  signed  with  them ;  and  whether 
the  John  Simons  now  present,  who  was  a  genuine 
John  Simons  of  some  kind,  were  the  right  one  or 
not,  they  had  no  intention  of  laying  themselves 
open  to  a  possible  action  for  perjury,  and  stuck  to 
their  original  testimony,  regardless  of  the  fact  that 
the  witness  now  confronted  with  them,  being  also 
clean  shaven,  of  average  height,  and  possibly  the 
possessor  of  a  brown  jacket,  was  a  perfectly  re 
spectable  citizen  of  New  York.  At  this  the  legal 
advisers  of  the  Brights  were  thunderstruck,  and 
the  court  was  surprised.  But  with  the  fear  of 
prosecution  by  the  Lauderdales  before  their  eyes, 
the  other  two  would  not  budge,  though  the  real 
John  Simons,  whether  he  had  signed  or  not,  imme 
diately  threatened  to  prosecute  them  for  perjury 
on  his  own  account.  But  he  did  not  look  impos 
ing  enough,  and  they  preferred  that  risk  to  the 
other. 

In  the  face  of  such  conflicting  evidence  the  court 


158  THE  EALSTONS. 

ruled  that,  the  witnesses  not  agreeing,  the  will 
could  not  be  admitted  to  probate,  and  there  was 
clearly  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  give  judgment 
that  the  deceased  had  died  intestate,  and  that  ad 
ministrators  must  dispose  of  the  property  between 
the  next  of  kin,  Alexander  Lauderdale  Senior,  and 
Katharine  Lauderdale,  widow  of  the  late  Admiral 
Ralston  of  the  United  States  Navy. 

When  Alexander  Junior  heard  the  judgment  he 
laughed  hysterically,  and  showed  his  brilliant  teeth. 
Hamilton  Bright  said  nothing,  but  he,  who  generally 
reddened  under  emotion,  turned  white  to  his  neck 
and  under  his  ears. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Allen  to  Mr. 
Henry  Brett,  as  they  walked  away  together.  "But 
if  he  didn't  happen  to  destroy  the  will  I  made  for 
him,  there  may  be  trouble  yet.  I  wonder  where 
it  is ! " 

But  nobody  seemed  to  know. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IT  is  not  very  easy  to  conceive  of  the  disappoint 
ment  felt  by  persons  to  whom  a  gigantic  fortune 
has  been  left  by  a  will  which  is  then  entirely  set 
aside,  so  that  they  receive  absolutely  nothing.  It 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  the 
state  of  mind  which  prevailed  in  the  households  of 
the  Brights  and  the  Crowdies  after  judgment  had 
been  given  against  them  in  the  court  of  probate. 
The  blow  was  sudden  and  stunning.  Though  they 
were  all  very  well-to-do,  even  rich,  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  that  word,  their  joint  imagination  had 
of  late  so  completely  outrun  their  present  circum 
stances,  that  they  felt  impoverished  when  the  hope 
of  millions  was  removed  beyond  their  reach.  They 
could  not  realize  that  the  will  was  absolutely  value 
less,  and  they  still  felt  sure  that  something  might 
be  done. 

Unfortunately  for  them  the  matter  had  been 
finally  settled.  In  the  presence  of  witnesses  who 
denied  one  another's  identity,  and  threatened  one 
another  reciprocally  with  actions  for  perjury,  the 
court  could  hardly  have  done  otherwise  than  it 
had  done.  To  this  day  it  is  still  doubtful  —  from 
159 


160  THE  RALSTONS. 

a  legal  point  of  view  —  which  of  the  John  Si- 
monses  signed  as  a  witness,  though  everything 
goes  to  show  that  the  last  one  produced  was  the 
right  one,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  others 
denied  having  known  him.  Persimmons  had,  from 
the  first,  denied  having  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  matter,  but  he  had  subsequently  sworn  to  all 
manner  of  statements.  The  confusion  was  com 
plete.  There  was  no  doubt  that  the  respectable 
John  Simons  who  appeared  ]ast  was  a  tenant  of 
one  of  the  Lauderdale  houses  in  MacDougal  Street, 
and  he  said  that  he  had  found  himself  at  Robert 
Lauderdale's  house,  having  gone  to  complain  of 
a  leak  in  his  roof  to  old  Robert  himself,  after 
having  vainly  laid  his  grievance  before  the  agent 
a  number  of  times.  The  story  was  probably  true, 
but  the  other  witnesses  remained  firm  in  their 
assertion  that  he  was  not  the  man.  They  were, 
perhaps,  telling  the  truth  to  the  best  of  their  abil 
ity.  Neither  Persimmons  nor  John  Simons  were 
men  who  had  anything  unusual  about  them  to  im 
press  itself  upon  their  memory.  They  themselves, 
somewhat  awed  by  the  presence  of  the  great  mil 
lionaire,  had  looked  at  him  much  more  than  at 
their  insignificant  fellow-witness.  The  room  had 
not  been  light,  for  the  signing  had  taken  place 
late  in  the  afternoon,  as  all  agreed  in  stating,  and 
they  had  not  remained  in  one  another's  presence 
more  than  three  minutes  altogether.  Simons,  said 


THE  EALSTONS.  161 

the  other  two,  had  stayed  behind,  whereas  they 
had  left  the  room  immediately.  It  was  not  sur 
prising  that  their  memory  of  the  man's  face  should 
be  indistinct. 

The  Brights,  however,  threw  the  whole  blame 
upon  the  Lauderdales  and  their  legal  advisers. 
The  latter  had  not  the  right,  they  said,  to  make 
the  two  witnesses  sign  an  affidavit  beforehand  to 
the  effect  that  they  recognized  the  third.  The 
Lauderdales  answered  that  there  was  no  law  to 
hinder  them  from  requesting  any  individual  with 
whom  they  had  to  do,  to  swear  to  any  statement 
he  made.  The  two  need  not  have  signed  unless 
they  pleased.  There  had  been  no  pressure  brought 
to  bear  upon  them.  They  had  said  that  they 
recognized  Persimmons.  The  Lauderdale  lawyers 
wished  to  make  sure  that  they  did,  so  as  to  avoid 
any  subsequent  trouble,  because  Persimmons  de 
nied  that  he  was  the  man,  and  might  disappear 
before  the  hearing.  What  was  more  natural  than 
that,  out  of  pure  caution,  they  should  have  wished 
to  file  an  affidavit  of  the  man's  identity  ?  The 
Brights,  amongst  themselves,  were  obliged  to  admit 
that  they  did  not  really  know  who  had  signed,  and 
that  the  only  person  who  could  have  settled  the 
dispute  was  dead,  so  that  they  could  not  blame  the 
court  for  its  decision. 

After  the  judgment  John  Simons  quarrelled  with 
the  other  two,  who  turned  upon  him  in  defence  of 

VOL.    II. 11 


162  THE  RALSTONS. 

their  own  reputations.  They  swore  out  warrants 
against  one  another  which  were  not  served,  and 
they  pottered  amongst  shysters  and  legal  small 
fry,  until  they  had  spent  most  of  their  money,  and 
disappeared  from  the  horizon  with  their  quarrel. 
The  private  opinion  of  the  judge  who  had  settled 
the  question  was  that  there  had  been  an  unfor 
tunate  mistake,  and  that  all  three  had  originally 
intended  to  be  perfectly  honest.  But  he  also 
thought  it  far  more  just  that  the  fortune  should 
go  to  the  next  of  kin,  in  spite  of  Robert  Lauder- 
dale's  wishes. 

Alexander  Lauderdale  did  his  best  to  conceal 
his  delight  in  his  triumph.  It  had  been  a  far  more 
easy  victory  than  he  had  expected,  and  it  was  prac 
tically  complete.  The  only  drawback  was  that  the 
fortune  had  come  into  his  old  father's  hands  instead 
of  into  his  own,  but  he  anticipated  no  difficulty  in 
ruling  the  old  gentleman  according  to  his  own  judg 
ment,  nor  in  getting  control  of  the  whole  estate. 
He  intended  to  treat  it  as  he  had  treated  his  own 
comparatively  small  possessions,  and  he  had  hopes 
of  seeing  it  doubled  in  his  lifetime.  He  could 
make  it  double  itself  in  twenty  years  at  the  utmost, 
and  he  was  but  fifty  years  of  age,  or  thereabouts. 
He  should  live  as  long  as  that,  with  his  iron  con 
stitution  and  careful  habits. 

His  father  received  the  news  with  an  old  man's 
chuckle  of  pleasure,  and  one  heavy  hand  fell  into 


THE  RALSTONS.  163 

the  other  with  a  loud  slap  of  satisfaction.  He  had 
but  one  idea,  which  was  to  extend  the  scope  and 
efficiency  of  his  charitable  institutions,  and  he  saw 
at  last  that  he  had  boundless  power  to  do  so. 

"  I  always  knew  I  should  live  to  build  that  other 
asylum  myself ! "  he  cried,  referring  to  one  of  his 
favourite  schemes.  "  It  will  only  cost  a  million  or 
so,  and  another  million  as  a  foundation  will  run  it. 
I'll  send  for  the  architects  at  once." 

Alexander  Junior  smiled,  for  he  believed  that 
he  was  quite  able  to  prevent  any  such  extravagance 
by  getting  himself  appointed  his  father's  guardian, 
on  the  ground  that  the  old  gentleman  would  squan 
der  everything  in  senseless  charities.  But  in  the 
meanwhile  it  would  take  some  time  to  make  the 
division  of  the  property,  which  was  almost  wholly 
in  real  estate,  as  has  been  seen,  and  could  not  be 
so  readily  apportioned  as  though  it  had  been  held 
in  bond  and  mortgage.  Of  course  the  administra 
tors  would  allow  either  of  the  heirs  to  draw  a  large 
amount  on  credit  before  the  settling,  if  they  desired 
to  do  so. 

Alexander  Senior  said  that  he  meant  to  live  in 
Clinton  Place  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  his  son 
considered  this  a  very  wise  decision.  The  people 
who  lived  opposite  began  to  watch  the  old  gentle 
man,  who  had  inherited  over  forty  millions,  when  he 
went  out  on  foot  in  his  shabby  coat  for  his  airing 
on  fine  days.  They  wondered  why  he  did  not  buy 


164  THE  B ALSTONS. 

a  new  one,  as  they  did,  when  their  overcoats  were 
worn  out. 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  indignant  at  the  idea  of 
continuing  to  inhabit  the  old  house.  In  her  mind 
it  was  associated  with  a  quarter  of  a  century  of 
penurious  economy,  and  she  longed  at  last  for  the 
luxury  she  enjoyed  so  thoroughly  in  the  houses  of 
others. 

"It's  perfectly  absurd,"  she  said  to  Katharine, 
indignantly.  "  Fve  stood  it  all  these  years  because 
I  had  to  —  but  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer.  If  ever 
I  paint  another  miniature !  But  I'd  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  wouldn't  do  that,  even  if  we  didn't 
get  all  the  money." 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  laughed  Katharine.  "  Put 
away  your  paints  and  your  brushes,  mother,  and 
say  that  you'll  never  use  them  any  more.  You'll 
be  at  it  again  as  hard  as  ever  in  a  week,  because 
you  really  like  it,  you  know  ! " 

"  I  suppose  so."  And  Mrs.  Lauderdale  laughed, 
too.  "  Let's  go  out,  child.  Let's  take  a  long  drive 
—  somewhere.  I  suppose  we  can  drive  as  much 
as  we  like  now." 

"  From  morning  till  night,"  answered  Katharine ; 
"  why  don't  we  use  the  horses  and  carriages  ? 
They're  all  there,  you  know,  and  all  the  grooms 
and  coachmen  and  everything,  just  as  though 
nothing  had  happened." 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  just  go  there  and  order 


THE  It  ALSTONS.  165 

a  carriage  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  rather  doubt 
fully. 

"  Why,  of  course  !  Whose  are  they  all,  if  they're 
not  ours  and  the  Ralstons'  ?  We  have  a  perfect 
right-" 

"  Yes  —  but  if  we  were  to  meet  people  —  don't 
you  know  ?" 

"  Well  —  they're  our  carriages,  not  theirs." 
Katharine  laughed  again.  "  The  only  question 
is  whether  they'll  belong  to  the  Ralstons  or  to 
us.  I  suppose  they'll  all  be  sold  and  we  shall 
buy  new  ones." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale. 
"They're  perfectly  good  carriages,  and  there  are 
some  splendid  horses  — 

Twenty-five  years  of  rigid  economy  were  not  to 
be  forgotten  in  a  day,  and  Alexander  Junior  saw 
with  satisfaction  that  his  wife  showed  no  signs  of 
developing  any  very  reprehensible  extravagance. 
But  she  enjoyed  that  first  drive,  lying  back  in  the 
luxurious  carriage  with  her  daughter  by  her  side, 
and  feeling  that  it  all  belonged  to  her,  or,  at  least, 
that  she  was  privileged  to  consider  that  it  did,  as 
much  as  though  she  had  inherited  the  fortune 
herself. 

Aunt  Maggie  Bright  saw  the  two  in  the  Park 
and  bent  her  head  rather  stiffly.  She  recognized 
the  carriage  and  spoke  of  the  meeting  to  her  son 
that  evening. 


1(30  THE  R ALSTONS. 

"  They've  a  right  to  do  as  they  please,"  answered 
Hamilton  gravely.  "  As  for  the  carriages  and  all 
the  personal  belongings,  they'd  have  had  them  any 
way.  I  should  like  to  know  where  that  other  will 
is,  though.  If  he  didn't  destroy  it,  it's  good  now." 

"If  it's  in  existence,  it  will  turn  up  amongst 
the  papers  one  of  these  days." 

"  Unless  Alexander  gets  at  them  —  then  it 
won't,"  said  Bright,  savagely. 

"Perhaps  that  isn't  quite  just,  Ham.  I  don't 
think  Alexander's  capable  of  destroying  such  a 


thing." 

"  Oh  —  isn't  he  !  You  don't  know  him,  mother. 
If  you  think  anything  would  stand  in  the  way  of 
his  defending  his  millions,  you're  very  much  mis 
taken.  There's  been  something  very  queer  about 
the  whole  affair.  That  affidavit  wasn't  straight." 

They  argued  the  case  and  talked  over  it,  as  they 
had  done  many  times  already,  without  coining  to 
any  conclusion,  except  that  they  should  have  had 
the  money  and  Alexander  should  not.  They 
always  considered  that  he  had  got  the  property, 
though  it  was  really  his  father's.  But  they  both 
knew  how  futile  discussion  was,  and  they  aban 
doned  it  at  last,  as  they  always  did,  with  a  hopeless 
conviction  that  the  truth  could  never  be  known. 

Katharine  on  her  side  was  much  disturbed  by 
what  she  knew  of  the  previous  will,  and  she  took 
counsel  with  John  Ralston,  as  to  how  she  should 


THE  RALSTONS.  167 

act.  There  was  not  much  to  be  done,  since  the 
will  itself  had  not  been  found  up  to  the  present 
date,  though  the  administrators  had  been  already 
some  time  engaged  in  examining  the  papers.  Of 
these  there  was  no  end,  though  the  agent  of  the 
estate  was  acquainted  with  most  of  them.  They 
consisted  chiefly  of  title  deeds  and  leases. 

By  this  time  Alexander  had  practically  admitted 
that  Katharine  was  engaged  to  be  married  to 
lialston,  but  like  every  one  else  concerned,  he 
thought  it  better  to  wait  until  the  summer,  before 
announcing  the  fact.  To  do  so  now  would  look  as 
though  the  family  had  only  waited  for  Kobert 
Lauderdale's  death.  Moreover,  though  it  is  so 
little  the  custom  to  wear  mourning  for  an}^  but  the 
very  nearest  nowadays,  the  inheritance  of  wealth 
requires  a  corresponding  show  of  grief  on  the  part 
of  the  heirs*  There  is  a  sort  of  tacit  understand 
ing  about  that.  When  an  uncle  leaves  a  fortune, 
the  particular  nephew  who  gets  it  must  acknowl 
edge  the  fact  and  propitiate  the  shade  of  the  dear 
departed  with  a  decently  broad  hatband.  The 
position  of  the  B rights  caused  some  amusement. 
They  had  worn  something  approaching  to  mourn 
ing  after  old  Lauderdale's  death,  but  they  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  continue  to  do  so  after  the 
court  had  set  aside  the  will.  The  Lauderdales 
and  the  Ralst6ns  wore  half  mourning. 

As  has  been  said,  Katharine's  engagement  was 


168  THE  B ALSTONS. 

accepted  as  a  fact  in  the  family,  and  she  had  no 
difficulty  in  seeing  Ralston  as  often  as  she  pleased, 
when  he  was  free  from  his  work.  He  had  told 
Mr.  Beinan  that  he  should  prefer  to  stay  in  the 
bank  for  a  time  and  learn  something  about  busi 
ness,  and  Beinan  had  been  delighted,  especially 
when  he  saw  that  John  came  as  regularly  as  ever. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

IN  the  late  spring  John  and  Katharine  often 
walked  together  of  an  afternoon,  between  half 
past  five  and  sunset. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  walks  that  Katharine 
consulted  him  seriously.  They  went  about  together 
in  unfrequented  places,  as  a  rule,  not  caring  to 
meet  acquaintances  at  every  turn.  Neither  of 
them  had  any  social  duties  to  perform,  and  they 
were  as  free  to  do  as  they  pleased  as  though  they 
had  not  represented  the  rising  generation  of  Lau- 
derdales. 

The  spring  had  fairly  come  at  last.  It  had 
rained,  and  the  pavement  dried  in  white  patches, 
the  willow  trees  in  the  square  were  a  blur  of  green, 
and  the  Virginia  creeper  on  the  houses  here  and 
there  was  all  rough  with  little  stubby  brown  buds. 
It  had  come  with  a  rush.  The  hyacinths  were 
sticking  their  green  curved  beaks  up  through  the 
park  beds,  and  the  little  cock-sparrows  were  scrap 
ing  their  wings  along  the  ground. 

There  was  a  bright  youthfulness  in  everything, 
—  in  the  air,  in  the  sky,  in  the  old  houses,  in  the 
faces  of  the  people  in  the  streets.  The  Italians 
169 


170  THE  RALSTOXS. 

with  their  fruit  carts  sunned  themselves,  and 
turned  up  their  dark  rough  faces  to  the  warmth. 
The  lame  boy  who  lived  in  the  house  at  the  corner 
of  Clinton  Place  was  out  on  the  pavement,  with  a 
single  roller  skate  on  his  better  foot,  pushing  him 
self  along  with  his  crutch,  and  laughing  all  to 
himself,  pale  but  happy.  The  old  woman  in  grey, 
who  hangs  about  that  region  and  begs,  had  at  last 
taken  the  dilapidated  woollen  shawl  from  her  head, 
and  had  replaced  it  by  a  very,  very  poor  apology 
for  a  hat,  with  a  crumpled  paper  cherry  and  a  green 
leaf  in  it,  and  only  one  string.  And  the  other 
woman,  who  wants  her  car-fare  to  Harlem,  seemed 
more  anxious  to  get  there  than  ever.  Moreover  the 
organ-grinders  expressed  great  joy,  and  the  chil 
dren  danced  together  to  the  cheerful  discords,  in 
Washington  Square,  under  the  blur  of  the  green 
willows  —  slim  American  children,  who  talked 
through  their  noses,  and  funny  little  French  chil 
dren  with  ribbons  in  their  hair,  from  South  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  bright-eyed  darkey  children  with  one 
baby  amongst  them.  And  they  took  turns  in  hold 
ing  it  while  the  others  danced. 

Now  also  the  patriotic  Italians  took  occasion  to 
bury  a  dead  comrade  or  two,  and  a  whole  platoon 
of  them,  who  had  been  riflemen  in  their  own  army 
at  home,  turned  out  in  their  smart,  theatrical  uni 
forms  of  green  and  red,  with  plumes  of  gleaming 
cock's  feathers  lying  over  one  side  of  their  flat 


THE  R ALSTONS.  171 

waterproof  hats.  And  they  had  a  band  of  their 
own  which  played  a  funeral  march,  as  their  little 
legs  moved  with  doll-like  slowness  to  the  solemn 
measure. 

But  Katharine  and  John  Ralston  followed  less 
frequented  paths,  crossing  Broadway  from  Clinton 
Place  east,  and  striking  past  Astor  Place  and 
Lafayette  Place  —  where  the  Crowdies  lived  — 
by  Stuyvesant  Street  eastwards  to  Avenue  A  and 
Tompkins  Square.  And  there,  too,  the  spring  was 
busy,  blurring  everything  with  green.  Men  were 
getting  the  benches  out  of  the  kiosk  on  the  north 
sidej  where  they  are  stacked  away  all  winter,  and 
otheio  were  repairing  the  band  stand  with  its 
shabby  white  dome,  and  everywhere  there  were 
children,  rising  as  it  were  from  the  earth  to  meet 
the  soft  air  —  rising  as  the  sparkling  little  air 
bubbles  rise  in  champagne,  to  be  free  at  last  — 
hundreds  of  children,  perhaps  a  thousand,  in  the 
vast  area  which  many  a  New  Yorker  has  not  seen 
twice  in  his  life,  out  at  play  in  the  light  of  the 
westering  sun.  They  stared  innocently  as  Katha 
rine  and  Ralston  passed  through  their  midst,  and 
held  their  breath  a  moment  at  the  sight  of  a  real 
lady  and  gentleman.  All  the  little  girls  over  ten 
years  old  looked  at  Katharine's  clothes  and  ap 
proved  of  them,  and  all  the  boys  looked  at  John 
Ralston's  face  to  see  whether  he  would  be  the 
right  sort  of  young  person  to  whom  to  address  an 
ironical  remark,  but  decided  that  he  was  not. 


172  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  There  goes  a  son  of  a  gamboleer,"  observed  one 
small  chap  on  roller  skates,  as  he  looked  after 
John.  "  He's  fly." 

"  You  bet !  And  his  girl,  she  knows  it,"  replied 
his  companion,  sharing  in  his  admiration. 

"Your  dad's  new  coat's  that  shape,"  said  the 
first.  "  But  'taint  made  that  way.  Fifth  Av'nue, 
that  is !  Bet  ?  " 

"  Lemme  be !  "  retorted  the  other.  "  Botherin' 
me  'bout  dad's  coat.  Mine's  better'u  yours,  any 
how." 

"  Take  a  reef  in  your  lip,  Johnny,  or  I'll  sit 
on  it ! " 

Thereupon  they  fought  without  the  slightest 
hesitation.  But  Katharine  and  John  Ralston 
went  on,  and  crossed  the  great  square  and  left 
it  by  the  southeast  corner,  from  which  a  quiet 
street  leads  across  the  remaining  lettered  avenues 
to  an  enormous  timber  yard  at  the  water's  edge, 
a  bad  neighbourhood  at  night,  and  the  haunt  of 
the  class  generically  termed  dock  rats,  a  place  of 
murder  and  sudden  death  by  no  means  unfre- 
quently,  but  by  day  as  quiet  and  safe  as  any  one 
could  wish. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Jack,"  Katharine  said, 
as  they  walked  along.  "The  idea  of  that  other 
will  haunts  me,  and  I  lie  awake  thinking  of  it  at 
night." 

"Don't   do   that,"   laughed   Kalston.     "It   isn't 


THE  RALSTONS.  173 

worth  while.  Besides,  it  wouldn't  make  so  much 
difference  if  it  were  found." 

"The  Brights  would  get  their  share  —  as  much 
as  they  ought  to  expect  —  instead  of  getting 
nothing.  That's  the  principal  thing.  But  papa 
wouldn't  like  it  at  all.  As  things  are  now,  he'll 
probably  have  all  grandpapa's  share  when  grand 
papa  dies.  I  suppose  he'll  have  the  management 
of  it  as  it  is.  But  if  the  old  will  were  found, 
and  were  legal,  you  know  —  why  then  papa  never 
could  possibly  have  anything  but  the  income  of 
half  my  share.  He  wouldn't  like  that." 

"What  in  the  world  does  he  want  with  so 
much  ?  "  asked  Ralston,  impatiently.  "  I  do  think 
you  Lauderdales  are  the  strangest  people  !  If  the 
will  —  " 

"  Don't  say  (  you  Lauderdales '  to  me  like  that, 
Jack  !  "  interrupted  Katharine,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"You're  every  bit  as  much  one  as  I  am,  you 
know  —  " 

"  Well  —  yes.  I  didn't  want  to  say  disagreeable 
things  about  your  father  —  " 

"  So  you  jumbled  us  all  up  together !  That's 
logical,  at  all  events.  Well  —  don't ! "  she  laughed 
again. 

"No,  I  won't.  So  I'll  say  that  your  father  is 
the  strangest  person  I  ever  heard  of.  As  it  is 
now,  he's  practically  got  half  the  fortune.  If 
the  old  will  turned  up  and  were  proved,  he 


1T4  THE  RALSTONS. 

and  your  mother  would  get  two-thirds  of  the 
income  —  " 

"No  they  wouldn't,  Jack.  The  two-thirds  would 
be  divided  equally  between  them  and  Charlotte 
and  me." 

"  Oh  —  I  see  !  Then  they'd  only  get  one-third 
between  them.  Well  —  what  difference  does  it 
make,  after  all  ?  There's  such  a  lot  of  money, 
anyhow  —  " 

"You  don't  understand  papa,  Jack.  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  do  —  quite.  But  I  think  wliat  he 
wants  is  not  the  income,  for  he'll  never  spend  it. 
I  believe  if  he  had  the  whole  eighty-two  millions 
locked  up  in  the  Safe  Deposit,  he'd  be  quite  happy, 
and  would  prefer  to  go  on  living  in  Clinton  Place 
on  ten  or  eleven  thousand  a  year  —  or  whatever 
it  costs  —  just  as  he's  always  lived.  It's  the 
money  he  wants,  I  think,  not  the  income  of  it. 
That's  the  reason  why  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  like 
the  other  will.  He'd  fight  it  just  as  he  fought 
this  one.  For  my  part  I  never  could  understand 
what  made  uncle  Robert  change  his  mind  at  the 
last  minute,  just  after  he'd  spoken  to  me." 

"  He  did,  anyhow.     That's  the  main  point." 

"Yes.  You  know  he  was  very  much  troubled 
in  his  mind  about  the  money.  I  believe  he's  been 
thinking  for  years  how  to  divide  it  fairly.  I  could 
see,  when  he  spoke  to  me,  that  he  wasn't  satisfied 
with  what  he'd  done.  It  was  worrying  him  still. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  175 

But  now  —  about  this  other  will  —  ought  I  to  say 
anything?  I  mean,  is  it  my  duty  to  tell  papa 
what  was  in  it  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed !  How  could  it  be  your  duty  ?  Every 
body  knows  that  uncle  Kobert  had  made  a  previous 
will.  Mr.  Allen  drew  it  up,  though  of  course 
he's  bound  to  say  nothing  about  what  was  in  it. 
It  is  always  taken  for  granted  that  when  a  man 
makes  a  new  will  he  burns  his  old  one.  That's 
probably  what  uncle  Kobert  did,  like  a  sensible 
man.  What's  the  use  of  telling  anybody  about 
it  ?  Besides  —  frankly  —  I  wouldn't  trust  your 
father,  if  he  knew  what  was  in  it.  He'd  go  out 
of  his  mind  and  do  something  foolish." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?     What  could  he  do  ?  " 

"  Well  —  it  might  fall  into  his  hands  by  acci 
dent.  One  never  knows.  And  he  might  say 
nothing  about  it.  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  to 
say  exactly  that  he  would  — " 

"No,  dear — please  don't  say  it.  He's  my 
father,  you  know  —  and  I  don't  think  you  under 
stand  him  as  I  do.  He  never  would  do  anything 
like  that  —  never!  I  don't  think  it's  quite  fair 
even  to  suggest  such  a  thing." 

"I'm  sorry  I  spoke,"  answered  Ralston,  in  a 
contrite  voice,  for  he  saw  that  she  was  really  hurt. 
"  You  know  what  I  mean  —  " 

"  Yes  —  "  she  replied  in  a  doubtful  tone.  "  But 
you  don't  understand  him,  quite.  It's  the  view 


176  THE   RALSTONS. 

of  right  and  wrong,  it  isn't  the  real  right  and 
wrong.  He's  violent,  and  he's  been  cruelly  unkind 
to  me,  and  —  well  —  he  loves  money.  I  can't  deny 
it." 

"  Hardly  ! "  exclaimed  Ralston,  feeling  that  she 
was  justifying  him  with  every  word. 

"  No.  It's  much  too  clear.  Nobody  could  deny 
it.  But  you're  very  much  mistaken  if  you  think 
that  papa  would  do  anything  which  he  knew  to 
be  dishonest.  With  all  his  faults  he's  got  that 
good  point.  He's  honest  in  the  letter,  and  I 
think  he  means  to  be  in  the  spirit." 

"  How  awfully  charitable  women  are  ! "  Ralston 
laughed  rather  scornfully. 

"  No,"  answered  Katharine.  "  I  don't  go  in  for 
being  charitable.  I'm  not  telling  you  that  I  love 
him,  nor  that  I  can  ever  forgive  some  of  the  things 
he's  said  and  done.  I  suppose  I  ought  to.  But 
I'm  just  as  human  as  other  people.  I  can't  turn 
the  other  cheek,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know. 
I  never  mean  to  give  him  another  chance  of  hurt 
ing  me,  if  I  can  help  it,  because  I  don't  know 
what  he  might  do.  We're  very  different,  he  and 
I,  though  we're  so  much  alike  in  some  ways.  But 
all  the  same,  I  say  that  papa's  not  a  bad  man, 
and  I  won't  let  any  one  else  say  it  —  not  even 
you.  He's  very  limited.  He's  fond  of  money. 
He's  got  a  cruel  streak  —  I  believe  it's  his  New 
England  blood,  for  none  of  the  other  Lauderdales 
have  it  —  " 


THE  RALSTONS.  177 

"  Except  Hester  Crowdie,"  observed  Ealston. 
"I'm  sure  she's  cruel." 

"Hester!"  exclaimed  Katharine,  in  surprise. 
"  How  absurd  !  She's  the  kindest  woman  living." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken  —  I  judge  from  her  face, 
that's  all,  and  from  her  eyes  when  she  sees 
Crowdie  talking  to  any  other  woman." 

"  Oh  —  she's  infatuated  about  him,"  laughed 
Katharine.  "  She's  mad  on  that  point,  but  as 
they  love  each  other  so  tremendously,  I  think 
it's  rather  nice  of  them  both  —  don't  you?" 

"Oh  yes,"  answered  Ralston,  indifferently. 
"Go  on  with  what  you  were  saying.  You  were 
talking  about  your  father." 

"  Yes.  He  has  a  cruel  streak.  In  a  small  way, 
Charlotte  has  it,  too.  She  can  say  the  most  horrid 
things  sometimes,  that  give  pain,  and  she  seems 
to  enjoy  it.  But  you're  wrong  about  Hester  — 
she's  kind-hearted.  As  for  papa  —  it's  just  that. 
His  religion  and  his  love  of  money  are  always 
fighting  in  him.  His  religion  gets  the  better  of 
it  whenever  he's  tempted  to  do  anything  that's 
plainly  wrong.  But  his  love  of  money  drives 
him  up  to  the  very  edge  of  what's  fair.  Now,  for 
instance,  he's  always  told  us  that  he  was  poor, 
and  yet  uncle  Robert  knew  that  he  had  a  million 
put  away  somewhere.  That's  fifty  thousand  a 
year,  isn't  it  ?  Yes,  I've  heard  him  say  so. 
Yet,  I'm  quite  sure  that  he  really  considered  that 

VOL.    II. 12 


178  THE  EALSTONS. 

very  little,  much  too  little  to  have  divided  it 
between  us  girls.  So  he's  made  us  live  on  a 
quarter  of  it  all  our  lives.  He  felt  poor,  and  he 
said  he  was.  Those  things  are  relative,  Jack. 
Uncle  Robert  would  have  felt  as  poor  as  a  church 
mouse  with  only  a  million  to  dispose  of.  As  papa 
looked  at  it,  it  was  true,  though  it  didn't  seem 
so  to  us.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"Dear  —  if  you  wish  to  defend  your  father, 
defend  him  as  much  as  you  please.  But  let's 
differ  in  our  opinion  of  some  of  his  peculiarities. 
It's  better  to  agree  about  differing,  you  know. 
We've  both  got  the  most  awful  tempers,  you  and 
I,  and  unless  we  label  the  disagreeable  things,  we 
shall  quarrel  over  them.  That's  one  of  them  — 
your  father.  Put  him  away  and  lock  up  the  idea. 
It's  safer." 

"  But  you  and  I  wouldn't  really  quarrel  —  even 
about  him,  Jack,"  said  Katharine,  with  sudden 
earnestness. 

"  Well — I  don't  know.     Not  for  long,  of  course." 

"  Not  for  one  minute,"  said  Katharine,  in  a  tone 
of  absolute  certainty.  "  When  have  we  quarrelled, 
Jack  ?  Except  last  winter,  over  that  wretched 
misunderstanding  —  and  that  was  all  my  fault. 
You  don't  think  I'm  angry  about  what  you  said  of 
papa,  do  you?  I'm  not,  and  I'm  sorry  if  you 
thought  I  was.  But  how  could  two  people  love 
each  other  as  we  do,  and  quarrel?  You  didn't 


THE  It  ALSTONS.  179 

mean  what  you  said,  dear,  or  you  don't  understand 
by  quarrelling  what  I  understand  by  it.  Perhaps 
that's  it.  I've  grown  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  per 
petual  lighting,  and  I  hate  it.  You've  not.  You 
don't  understand,  as  I  said.  You've  never  quar 
relled  with  your  mother,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Never  but  once  —  at  the  same  time,  you  know, 
when  they  were  all  against  me.  It  didn't  last  long." 

"Exactly.  You've  had  your  fights  with  men,  1 
suppose,  and  all  that.  It's  quite  different.  But 
I've  lived  all  my  life  in  the  most  especial  garden 
of  our  family  tempers.  Four  of  us  —  grandpapa, 
papa,  Charlotte,  and  I — and  my  mother  as  the 
only  peacemaker,  with  her  Kentucky  blood !  But 
she's  always  done  her  best,  and  we  love  each  other 
dearly,  she  and  I,  though  we've  been  tearing  each 
other's  hair  out  for  the  last  four  months  —  until 
the  other  day.  Now  we're  friends  again,  Jack ; 
she's  been  splendid,  you  know,  or  rather,  you  don't 
half  know ! " 

"  And  what  happened  the  other  day,  to  save  your 
remaining  locks  ?  "  enquired  Ralston,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you.  Perhaps  she  will,  some 
day.  But  as  I  was  saying,  you  can't  imagine  what 
my  life  at  home  has  been  all  these  years.  I'm  not 
sure  whether  it  hasn't  been  worse  since  Charlotte 
was  married.  You  know  what  we  are  —  we're  so 
awfully  polite  when  we  fight.  Ham  Bright's  the 
only  one  who  gets  rough  when  he's  excited.  That's 


180  THE   R  ALSTONS. 

California  and  Nevada,  I  suppose.  But  we !  we 
quarrel  with  all  solemnity.  A  family  of  under 
takers  couldn't  do  it  more  gravely.  It  always 
seems  to  me  that  papa  ought  to  have  a  band  on  his 
hat  and  black  gloves  when  he  begins.  Yes,  it's 
funny  to  talk  about.  But  it's  not  pleasant  to  live 
in  the  middle  of  it.  We're  all  used  to  being  on 
the  defensive.  Charlotte  didn't  mind  what  she 
said  to  papa,  but  she  used  to  pick  her  words  and 
arrange  her  phrases  —  like  knives  all  stuck  up  in 
a  neat  row  for  him  to  fall  upon.  And  he  generally 
fell,  and  hurt  himself  badly  —  poor  papa !  He's 
not  very  clever,  though  he's  so  precise  about  what 
he  knows.  And  every  now  and  then  mother  would 
strike  out  with  one  of  her  dashing  southern  sen 
timents,  and  then  I'd  say  something,  and  when 
nobody  thought  that  grandpapa  had  heard  a  word 
of  the  conversation,  he'd  suddenly  make  a  remark 
—  a  regular  Lauderdale  remark  that  set  everybody 
by  the  ears  again.  But  it's  only  since  you  and 
papa  had  that  awful  scene  —  you  know,  when  you 
first  wanted  to  marry  me  —  it's  only  since  then 
that  he's  got  into  the  habit  of  raising  his  voice  and 
being  angry,  and  —  She  stopped  short. 

"  And  generally  behaving  like  a  fiend  incarnate/' 
suggested  Ralston,  by  way  of  ending  the  sentence. 

"  Oh,  well  —  let's  leave  them  alone,  dear,"  an 
swered  Katharine.  "  It's  all  going  to  be  so  differ 
ent  now.  I  only  wanted  to  explain  to  you  what  I 


THE  RALSTONS.  181 

meant  by  quarrelling,  that's  all.  I  want  to  forget 
all  about  it,  and  live  with  you  forever  and  ever, 
and  ever,  and  be  perfectly  peaceful  and  happy  — 
as  we  shall  be.  Look  at  the  sunset.  That's  much 
better  than  talking  about  those  horrid  old  times, 
isn't  it?" 

They  stood  by  the  edge  of  the  river,  on  the  road 
that  runs  along  from  pier  to  pier.  Katharine  laid 
her  hand  upon  Kalston's  arm,  and  felt  how  it  drew 
her  gently  close  to  him,  and  glancing  at  his  face 
she  loved  it  better  than  ever  in  the  red  evening 
light. 

The  sun  was  going  down  between  two  clouds, 
the  one  above  him,  the  other  below,  grey  and 
golden,  behind  Brooklyn  bridge,  and  behind  the 
close-crossing  pencil  masts  and  needle  yards  of 
many  vessels.  From  the  river  rose  the  white 
plumes  of  twenty  little  puffing  tugs  and  ferry-boats 
far  down  in  the  distance.  Between  the  sun's  great 
flattened  disk  and  the  lovers'  eyes  passed  a  great 
three-masted  schooner,  her  vast  main  and  mizzen 
set,  her  foresail  and  jib  hauled  down,  being  towed 
outward.  It  was  very  still,  for  the  dock  hands 
had  gone  home. 

"  I  love  you,  dear,"  said  Katharine,  softly. 

But  Ralston  answered  nothing.  Only  his  right 
hand  drew  her  left  more  closely  to  his  side. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

KATHARINE  had  been  intimate  with  Hester 
Crowdie  from  the  time  when  they  had  both  been 
children,  though  Hester  was  several  years  older 
than  she.  Possibly  the  friendship  had  been  one 
of  Katharine's  mistakes.  For  his  part,  Kalston, 
as  has  been  seen,  did  not  place  great  confidence 
in  the  married  woman's  nature,  and  if  he  did  not 
tell  Katharine  exactly  what  he  thought,  it  was  not 
from  lack  of  conviction  but  because  he  felt  that  the 
conviction  itself  was  intuitive  rather  than  logical. 
Men,  as  well  as  women,  have  intuitions  which  they 
cannot  explain,  but  they  are  much  more  inclined  to 
conceal  them  than  women  are,  because  they  have 
been  taught  not  to  trust  to  them.  They  judge 
others,  and  especially  they  judge  women,  from 
small  facts  which  they  are  often  ashamed  of  seem 
ing  to  value  so  highly.  At  least,  when  they  analyze 
their  feelings  about  any  given  woman,  it  often  hap 
pens  that  their  reasoning  leads  up  to  some  detail 
which,  standing  alone,  must  and  does  appear  al 
together  insignificant.  It  is  not  easy  to  decide 
whether  such  very  small  causes  among  the  reali 
ties  actually  produce  the  whole  consequence  which 
182 


THE  E ALSTONS.  183 

affects  the  mind,  or  whether  man's  view  of  woman 
and  woman's  view  of  man,  as  distinguished  from 
the  judgments  each  forms  upon  his  and  her  own 
sex,  is  not  dependent  upon  a  very  subtle  sense  of 
truth,  acting  by  paths  shorter  than  logical  deduction. 

In  illustration  and  as  an  example  it  may  be 
noticed  that  the  eyes  of  the  majority  of  persons 
convey  the  consciousness  of  numbers  precisely,  up 
to  a  certain  point,  without  any  operation  of  count 
ing.  Most  people  can  say  at  a  glance,  of  any  small 
group  of  objects,  that  there  are  two,  three,  four,  or 
even  seven.  With  almost  all  individuals,  counting, 
and  counting  from  the  beginning,  becomes  necessary 
when  there  are  eight  or  more  objects  together.  For 
though  the  eye  embraces  seven,  as  seven,  it  cannot 
embrace  seven  out  of  eight  and  count  one  more  to 
make  up  the  number.  If  there  is  any  counting  it 
must  be  done  from  the  very  beginning. 

Similarly,  in  reading  rapidly,  there  are  many  who 
do  not  read  every  word.  Their  eyes  and  intelli 
gence  seize  upon  and  comprehend  blocks  of  words 
and  even  of  lines,  by  a  series  of  spasmodic  leaps, 
as  it  were,  after  each  one  of  which  there  is  a  pause 
of  very  short  and  hardly  perceptible  duration. 
Those  who  have  been  obliged  to  read  very  quickly, 
such  as  readers  of  manuscripts,  and  especially  pro 
fessional  critics  of  second-class  literature,  are  per 
fectly  well  aware  of  this  faculty.  Such  men  often 
read  through  and  judge  several  volumes  in  a  day,  a 


184  THE  E  ALSTONS. 

fact  which  would  not  be  possible  if  they  had  to  read 
each  word  of  every  sentence.  It  is  not  well  done, 
as  Dr.  Johnson  would  have  said,  but  we  are  sur 
prised  to  see  it  done  at  all.  The  result,  in  the 
modern  phrase,  is  not  judgment,  but  tasting.  But 
it  is  a  result,  all  the  same.  By  force  of  a  habit 
which  cannot  by  any  means  be  acquired  by  every 
one,  words  and  even  blocks  of  words  to  a  great 
number  have  become  to  such  a  reader  as  symbols, 
which  convey  to  his  mind  an  idea  all  at  once. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  by  easy  stages  real 
symbols  could,  in  our  ordinary  books,  take  the 
place  of  long  sentences,  and  convey  meaning  with 
out  words  at  all.  All  forms  of  religion  have  made 
use  of  such  symbols,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
they  could  not  be  used  in  printing,  though  there 
may  be  excellent  reasons  why  they  should  not  be 
adopted.  But  in  reading,  as  in  counting,  when  the 
meaning  of  a  whole  sentence  is  not  understood  at  a 
glance,  it  becomes  necessary  to  read  it  from  the 
beginning,  word  by  word,  or  by  shorter  blocks  of 
words,  just  as  it  is  necessary  to  spell  out  a  single 
word,  such  as  a  name,  if  it  is  not  familiar  at  first 
sight,  and  is  not  made  up  of  familiar  syllables. 

And  in  this  way,  perhaps,  the  mind  of  one  indi 
vidual  judges  the  whole  personality  of  another, 
without  going  through  any  form  of  analysis  or 
any  enumeration  of  qualities  and  defects.  The 
instinctive  attraction  of  opposite  sexes  for  one 


THE  E ALSTONS.  185 

another  sharpens  the  faculties  of  all  living  crea 
tures,  and  hence  it  may  possibly  be,  that  men  gen 
erally  understand  women  better  than  men,  and  the 
converse,  that  women  are  better  judges  of  men 
than  they  are  of  other  women.  It  is  often  true 
that  the  combined  judgment  passed  by  a  man  and 
woman  in  consultation  upon  any  individual  is 
vague  and  worthless,  though  in  rare  cases  where  a 
profound  and  wide-reaching  sympathy  really  exists, 
such  joint  judgment  is  the  best  in  the  world. 

This  may  be  a  mere  theory,  or  it  may  be  the 
truth,  but  at  all  events  it  seems  simpler  to  believe 
that  what  we  call  intuition  is  founded  upon  some 
such  appreciation  of  each  individual  as  a  symbol 
representing  a  set  of  thoughts,  than  to  suppose  that 
it  is  a  sort  of  sixth  sense,  sometimes  amounting  to 
second  sight.  Every  one  may  judge  of  that  out 
of  his  own  experience. 

Ralston,  who  was  familiar  enough  with  the  char 
acter  of  his  family  in  all  its  branches,  thought  that 
he  saw  in  Hester  Crowdie  a  sort  of  modification  of 
the  same  love  of  possession  which  made  a  miser  of 
Alexander  Junior,  and  which,  if  opposed,  would  be 
as  ruthless  and  as  dangerous.  He  might  have  been 
willing  to  admit  that  he  had  a  share  of  the  same 
peculiarity,  quality,  or  defect,  himself.  The  tenac 
ity  of  his  love  for  Katharine  proved  that  he  had  it. 
But  as  he  disliked  Crowdie  so  sincerely,  Hester's 
passion  for  her  husband  seemed  abnormal  in  his 


186  THE   RALSTONS. 

eyes.  He  fancied  that  if  it  were  crossed  or  thwarted 
she  would  be  capable  of  going  to  any  extremity  for 
its  sake.  Her  friendship  for  Katharine,  in  his 
opinion,  might  be  turned  to  hatred  at  a  moment's 
notice. 

The  friendship  of  a  passionate  woman  who  seeks 
an  outlet  for  the  confidences  of  her  overflowing 
nature,  rather  than  the  companionship  and  mutual 
respect  which  friendship  means,  if  it  means  any 
thing,  is  always  selfish  and  generally  dangerous. 
It  has  no  elements  of  stability  in  it.  When  she 
lias  no  more  confidences  to  make  she  is  silent,  not 
companionable.  When  she  has  exhausted  sympa 
thy  by  the  often  repeated  tale  of  her  own  minor 
experiences  or  of  her  woes,  real  or  imaginary,  and 
when  the  response  of  the  worn-out  listener  grows 
more  dull  or  slow,  she  believes  that  she  has  ex 
hausted  also  her  friend's  heart,  that  it  is  shallow 
and  arid,  and  she  turns  away  in  disgust  and  disap 
pointment,  seeking  a  kindred  soul.  And  that  is 
the  end  of  many  friendships  between  women.  As 
often  as  not,  they  are  founded  upon  the  irresistible 
desire  to  make  confidences,  experienced  by  one  or 
both  of  the  fancied  friends,  and  they  come  to  an 
end  when  confidence  no  longer  elicits  sympathy. 
There  is  neither  the  simple  delight  in  companion 
ship  which  requires  no  emotion,  nor  the  active 
intellectual  principle  on  both  sides  which  finds 
pleasure  in  the  free  trade  of  thought  without  sub- 


THE  B  ALSTONS.  187 

jection  to  the  exigent  tariff  which  exacts  the  duty 
of  pity  or  admiration  and  unhesitatingly  excludes 
those  who  have  neither  to  pay,  from  intellectual 
commerce. 

The  less  impulsive,  the  less  passionate  woman  of 
the  two,  she  who  receives  all  this  outpouring  of 
the  shallow  but  easily  agitated  soul,  is  the  one  who 
is  imposed  upon.  Until  she  has  had  experience, 
she  believes  in  sufferings  and  joys  commensurate 
with  the  words  which  express  both,  and  even 
greater.  Her  pity  is  really  excited;  her  admira 
tion  is  genuine;  she  sheds  tears  sympathetic,  and 
glows  with  pride  vicarious.  Her  slow  nature  is 
roused,  and  its  activity  continues  after  the  truth 
begins  to  dawn  upon  her.  Then,  all  at  once,  she 
finds  out  that  truth,  and  suffers  the  rude  shock 
which  a  less  stable  being  would  scarcely  feel.  She 
is  the  one  who  suffers.  The  other  merely  wonders 
why  her  confidences  no  longer  interest  her  friend, 
and  lets  them  boil  over  in  a  new  direction.  Not 
knowing  what  real  friendship  means,  she  who  loses 
it  loses  nothing.  What  she  misses  is  the  pity  and 
also  the  admiration  which  helped  her  to  pity  and 
admire  herself,  and  she  can  get  both  elsewhere. 
But  the  stronger,  more  silent  woman,  broods  over 
her  disenchantment  and  loses  her  belief  in  human 
nature,  which  is  the  key  to  human  happiness,  as 
faith  in  God  is  the  key  to  heaven.  She  will  not 
easily  be  drawn  into  such  friendship  again,  and  is 
quick  to  scoff  at  it  in  others. 


188  THE  RALSTONS. 

For  the  disenchantment  of  broken  friendship  is 
less  violent  but  more  deep-reaching  than  the  disen 
chantment  of  broken  love-faith.  Love  is  for  the 
one,  friendship  is,  or  may  be,  for  the  many.  There 
is  no  natural  reason  why  any  man  or  woman  whom 
we  meet,  should  never  become  our  friend.  To  lose 
faith  in  human  nature  may  sometimes  render  love 
impossible.  But  though  one  woman  have  betrayed 
us,  and  though  we  say  in  our  heart  that  men  and 
women  are  faithless  in  love,  yet  we  have  not  there 
fore  said  that  all  humanity  is  faithless  in  all  that 
which  makes  up  friendship. 

Friendship  is  more  composite  than  love,  and 
becomes  more  and  more  so  with  advancing  years, 
as  the  whole  of  life,  which  made  such  a  hugely 
noble  impression  upon  our  young  sight,  is  dis 
sected,  bit  by  bit,  before  the  weary  eyes  that  have 
seen  it  too  long,  and  before  the  tribunal  of  a  heart 
that  has  known  bitterness.  Friendship,  like  char 
ity,  covers  a  multitude  of  sins.  The  rending  of  it 
shows  them  as  they  are,  and  they  are  not  beautiful. 

Katharine  had  of  late  gone  through  events  which 
had  tended  to  destroy  the  whole-heartedness  of 
her  view  of  the  world  and  its  people.  Within  the 
past  six  months  her  character  had  developed,  if  it 
had  not  changed,  and  if  she  was  more  in  earnest 
about  her  realities,  she  was  harder  in  judging  her 
imaginings  and  in  testing  anything  in  the  nature 
of  an  ideal  which  presented  itself  to  her  moral 


THE  RALSTONS.  189 

vision.  She  would  have  made  a  firmer  friend  now, 
than  formerly,  but  her  friendship  was  also  much 
harder  to  obtain. 

She  was,  doubtless,  quite  truthful  to  herself  in 
what  she  thought  of  her  own  mother,  for  instance. 
They  were  altogether  reconciled  for  the  present, 
and  outwardly  their  intercourse  was  what  it  had 
been  before  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  unreasoning  envy 
had  almost  brought  about  a  permanent  estrange 
ment.  But  the  fact  remained  that  the  estrange 
ment  had  come,  though  it  had  also  gone  again,  and 
Katharine  felt  that  it  might  possibly  some  day 
return.  The  childlike  faith,  the  belief  that  her 
mother  could  do  nothing  wrong,  which  is  one  of 
childhood's  happiest  tenets,  was  destroyed  forever. 
Her  mother,  henceforth,  was  as  other  women  were 
in  her  eyes,  nearer  to  her,  by  the  natural  bonds 
that  bound  the  two  together  and  by  the  necessary 
intercourse  of  daily  life,  but  not  in  heart  nor  in  real 
sympathy.  Katharine  asked  herself  coldly  what 
an  affection  could  be  worth  which  could  hate  its 
object  out  of  pure  vanity ;  and  the  answer  was 
that  it  could  not  be  worth  much.  But  she  never 
underrated  its  true  value  in  the  newly  discovered 
proof  of  its  fallibility. 

Evidently,  she  was  going  far  —  too  far,  perhaps, 
for  justice  and  certainly  too  far  for  happiness. 
And  she  applied  her  conclusion  not  only  to  her 
own  mother,  but  to  all  handsome  mothers  who  had 


190  THE  R ALSTONS. 

pretty  daughters.  The  first  breath  of  envy  would 
poison  any  mother's  love  she  thought,  and  the 
memories  of  her  own  childhood  were  poisoned 
retrospectively  by  the  bitterness  of  the  present. 
She  was  at  that  stage  of  growth  when  generalities 
have  a  force  which  they  have  never  acquired  before 
and  which  they  soon  lose,  as  life's  hailstorm  of 
exceptions  batters  them  out  of  shape.  Out  of  iso 
lated  facts  she  made  them,  and  made  of  them  rules, 
and  of  rules,  laws. 

As  for  her  father's  conduct,  it  had  been  less 
unexpected,  though  it  had  hurt  her  even  more, 
because  it  had  crossed  her  own  path  so  much  more 
rudely  and  directly.  But  it  had  helped  to  destroy 
other  illusions,  and  in  a  way  to  undermine  some 
thing  which  was  not  an  illusion  at  all.  She  had 
always  believed  in  his  courage  and  manliness,  and 
both  had,  in  her  opinion,  broken  down.  No  man 
could  be  brave,  she  felt,  who  treated  any  woman 
as  her  father  had  treated  her,  and  the  mere  thought 
of  the  past  scenes  of  violence  sent  a  thrill  of  pain 
to  her  injured  arm.  No  man  could  be  manly  who 
could  wish  to  sacrifice  his  daughter  as  she  consid 
ered  that  he  had  wished  to  sacrifice  her  —  to  sell 
her,  as  she  said  in  her  anger. 

There  was  injustice  in  this.  Archibald  Wing- 
field  was  one  of  the  most  desirable  and  desired 
young  men  in  New  York.  Having  made  up  his 
mind  that  Katharine  should  not  marry  Ralston, 


THE  RALSTONS.  191 

Alexander  Junior  could  hardly  have  done  better 
for  her  than  he  did  in  trying  to  bring  about  a 
match  with  Wingfield.  But  there  Katharine  was 
influenced  by  her  love  for  John,  which  made  her 
look  upon  the  mere  suggestion  of  a  rival  as  an 
insult  hardly  to  be  forgiven. 

The  deeper  and  less  apparent  wound  in  her 
belief  was  the  more  dangerous,  though  she  did  not 
know  it.  Alexander  Junior  had  always  professed 
to  act  upon  the  most  rigid  religious  principles,  and 
though  Katharine  did  not  sympathize  with  the 
form  of  worship  in  which  she  had  been  brought 
up,  and  had  at  one  time  been  strongly  inclined  to 
become  a  Koman  Catholic,  as  her  mother  was,  she 
had,  nevertheless,  accorded  a  certain  degree  of 
admiration  to  her  father's  unbending  and  uncom 
promising  consistency.  There  was  no  gentleness 
and  no  consolation  in  such  religion,  she  thought, 
but  she  could  not  help  admiring  its  strength  and 
directness.  She  had  said,  too,  that  her  father  was 
faithful  in  his  love  for  her  mother,  a  fact  which 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  its  weight  in  her 
eyes  at  present.  But  of  late  he  had  done  many 
things  which  Katharine  was  sure  could  not  be  jus 
tified  by  any  religion  whatsoever,  and  had  shown 
tendencies  which,  if  his  religion  had  ever  been 
real,  should,  in  her  view,  have  been  stamped  out 
or  wholly  destroyed  long  ago.  His  avarice  was 
one  of  them,  his  cruelty  to  herself  another,  his 


192  THE  KALSTONS. 

attempt  to  injure  John  Ealston  in  Mr.  Beman's 
opinion  was  a  third.  And  all  these  tendencies 
were  as  strong  as  himself  and  could  not  be  easily 
hidden  nor  charitably  overlooked.  Not  knowing 
the  real  strength  of  any  great  passion,  she  could 
not  realize  that  there  might  have  been  a  conflict  in 
her  father's  heart.  To  children,  real  sin  seems  as 
monstrous  as  real  virtue  seems  to  those  who  have 
sinned  often,  and  in  respect  of  real  sin,  Katharine 
was  yet  but  a  child.  She  saw  a  man  doing  wrong, 
who  said  that  he  acted  in  accordance  with  the  prin 
ciples  of  his  religion.  She  overlooked  his  tempta 
tions,  she  ignored  his  struggles,  she  said  that  he 
was  bad  and  called  his  religion  a  fiction. 

The  direct  consequence  was  that  such  convic 
tions  as  she  had  herself  were  undermined  and 
shaken  and  almost  ruined,  and  the  moral  disturb 
ance  affected  her  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  except, 
perhaps,  in  her  love  for  John  Kalston,  which  grew 
stronger  as  other  things  failed. 

With  regard  to  her  friendship  for  Hester,  how 
ever,  it  had  not,  as  yet,  suffered  any  rude  shock. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

KATHARINE  and  Hester  had  seen  but  little  of 
one  another  during  the  battle  of  the  will,  and  a 
certain  awkwardness  and  reticence  had  appeared 
between  them,  which  Katharine  attributed  alto 
gether  to  the  question  of  the  fortune.  As  has  been 
seen,  however,  it  had  another  source  on  Hester's 
side,  and  one  much  more  likely  to  produce  results 
that  might  hurt  one  or  the  other  or  both  of  them. 
As  for  Katharine,  it  was  characteristic  of  her  that 
she  attempted  to  return  to  the  former  cordiality  of 
their  relations  as  soon  as  the  matter  of  the  inheri 
tance  had  been  settled. 

She  found  Hester  cold  and  unsympathetic,  but 
she  excused  her  on  the  ground  of  the  family  dis 
pute,  and  of  the  very  great  disappointment  the 
Crowdies  must  have  suffered  from  the  decision  of 
the  court.  The  conversation  turned  upon  indiffer 
ent  matters  and  languished,  as  they  sat  together  in 
the  pretty  little  room  at  the  front  of  the  house.  It 
was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  smell  of  the 
spring  came  in  through  the  open  windows. 

"It's  getting  very  dull  in  New  York,"  said 
VOL.  ii.  — 13  193 


194  THE  R ALSTONS. 

Hester,  after  a  long  pause.  "  I  think  we  shall  go 
out  of  town  soon,  this  year." 

She  suppressed  a  yawn  with  her  diaphanous 
hand,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  corner  of  the  sofa, 
staring  vacantly  at  an  etching  which  hung  on  the 
opposite  wall,  and  wishing  that  Katharine  would 
go.  Then  she  rang  the  bell,  having  thought  of  tea 
as  a  possible  antidote  to  dulness. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  go  away,  too,"  said  Katha 
rine,  wondering  what  the  summer  was  to  be  like. 

The  servant  came,  and  got  his  orders,  and  went 
out,  and  Hester  almost  yawned  again. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,"  she 
said,  half  apologetically.  "  I'm  so  sleepy." 

"  You'll  be  all  right  after  you've  had  some  tea," 
answered  Katharine,  trying  to  think  of  something 
pleasant  to  say,  and  rinding  nothing. 

"  I  hope  so,''  observed  the  elder  woman.  "  This 
is  awful.  I'm  conscious  of  being  dreadfully  dull." 

"  It's  probably  the  reaction,"  suggested  Katha 
rine. 

There  was  another  long  pause.  The  sound  of  a 
carriage  passing  along  the  street  came  in  through 
the  windows,  but  scarcely  seemed  to  break  the 
silence.  Presently  the  servant  returned  —  a  highly 
respectable,  elderly  butler  with  very  white  hair, 
answering  to  the  name  of  Fletcher.  He  set  down 
the  tea  and  departed  noiselessly  and  with  dignity. 
He  had  formerly  been  butler  at  the  lialstons'  for 


THE  R ALSTONS.  195 

a  number  of  years,  but  Mrs.  Kalston  had  reduced 
her  establishment  after  her  husband's  death. 

"  What  reaction  did  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Hester, 
idly,  as  she  made  the  tea. 

"Oh  —  I  meant  the  natural  reaction  after  the 
tremendous  excitement  we've  all  been  living  in 
for  so  long." 

"  Oh  !  "  ejaculated  her  companion,  rather  coldly. 
"I  see,"  she  continued  after  a  pause,  during  which 
she  had  made  a  busy  little  clatter  with  the  tea 
things,  "you  mean  because  we  hoped  to  get  the 
money  and  didn't  —  therefore,  I'm  sleepy.  That 
doesn't  sound  very  sensible." 

"Well  —  not  as  you  put  it,"  answered  Katha 
rine,  with  a  short  laugh  of  embarrassment. 

She  had  determined  to  attack  the  subject  boldly, 
so  as  to  break  the  ice  once  and  for  always.  Hes 
ter's  aggressive  answer  put  her  out. 

"  How  would  you  put  it  ?  "  enquired  the  latter, 
leaning  back  again  and  waiting  for  the  tea  to  draw. 
"Explain  !  I'm  awfully  dull  to-day." 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  natural  ?  "  asked  Katha 
rine.  "  It's  of  no  use  to  deny  that  we've  all  been 
tremendously  excited  during  the  last  fortnight,  and 
now  the  excitement  has  stopped.  One's  nerves 
run  down  —  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know  —  and 
then  one's  tired  and  feels  depressed." 

"The  depression's  natural — in  our  case,"  an 
swered  Hester,  lifting  the  cover  and  looking  into 


196  THE  R ALSTONS. 

the  teapot  in  a  futile  way,  as  though  she  would  see 
whether  the  tea  were  strong  enough. 

"  Yes,"  said  Katharine,  thoughtfully.  "  Do  you 
know,  dear  ?  It  seems  to  me  as  though  you  were 
thinking  that  it  was  my  fault,  in  a  way." 

"  What  ?  That  I'm  depressed  ?  Don't  be  silly ! 
Do  you  like  it  strong  ?  I've  forgotten.  It's  about 
right  now,  I  should  think." 

"A  little  water,  please — no  cream — one  lump 
of  sugar  —  thanks.  No,"  she  continued,  a  little 
impatiently,  "you  know  perfectly  well  what  I 
mean,  if  you'll  only  understand.  I  suppose  that's 
rather  Irish  —  "  she  laughed  again. 

"  It's  Greek  to  me  ! "  replied  Hester,  smartly, 
as  she  poured  out  her  own  cup  of  tea.  "You're 
trying  to  say  something  —  why  don't  you  say 
it?" 

It  began  to  be  clear  to  Katharine  that  there 
were  more  difficulties  in  the  way  of  what  she  was 
attempting  to  do,  than  she  had  dreamt  of.  She 
had  expected  that  Hester  would  be  quite  ready  to 
meet  her  half  way,  instead  of  intrenching  herself 
behind  an  absurd  and  pretended  misunderstanding, 
as  she  was  doing.  The  best  way  seemed  to  be  to 
enter  into  an  explanation  at  once.  She  sipped  her 
tea  thoughtfully  and  then  began  again. 

"I'll  tell  you  exactly  what  I  mean,"  she  said; 
"  so  that  you'll  see  it  as  I  do.  I'm  afraid  that  this 
question  of  money  has  come  between  you  and  me. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  197 

And  if  it  has,  I'm  very  sorry,  because  I'm  very  fond 
of  you,  Hester." 

u  Well  —  I'm  fond  of  you,"  answered  Hester,  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  I  don't  see  why  the  money 
should  make  any  difference." 

"  I  hope  it  doesn't.  Only  —  I'm  afraid  it  does, 
in  spite  of  what  you  say.  I  don't  feel  as  though 
we  could  ever  be  again  exactly  what  we've  always 
been  until  now.  But  it's  not  fair,  Hester.  It's 
not  just.  You  know  very  well  that  if  I  could  have 
done  anything  to  make  the  wTill  good,  I  would  have 
done  it.  I  couldn't.  What  could  I  do?  It's 
simply  a  misfortune  that  we  were  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  fight  —  or  our  people  were.  I'm  not  exactly 
what  you'd  call  gushing,  I  suppose  —  indeed,  I 
know  I'm  not.  But  it  hurts  me  to  think  that 
we're  to  be  like  strangers,  because  three  men 
couldn't  agree  about  a  signature.  It's  unnatural. 
It's  not  right.  I  came  here  to-day,  meaning  to  say 
so  —  and  I'm  glad  I've  had  the  courage  to  say  it 
without  waiting  any  longer.  But  if  we're  only  to 
know  each  other  —  in  a  general  way  like  distant 
cousins  —  why,  it's  better  to  acknowledge  it  at 
once.  It  shan't  come  from  me  —  that's  all.  But 
I'd  rather  be  prepared  for  it,  you  know." 

"So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I  don't  want  to  fight," 
said  Hester,  coolly.  "  I  don't  see  any  reason  why 
we  should.  Of  course  we  don't  throw  ourselves 
into  each  other's  arms  and  cry  with  delight  every 


198  THE  EALSTONS. 

time  we  meet,  like  schoolgirls.  We've  outgrown 
that.  But  as  for  my  quarrelling  with  you  because 
your  father's  inherited  a  fortune  when  I  ought  to 
have  had  a  part  of  it  —  it's  too  ridiculous.  You 
would  have  had  a  share,  too,  under  the  will.  Then 
you  ought  to  quarrel  with  your  own  father,  much 
more  than  with  me.  Isn't  that  common  sense?" 

"Yes  —  I  suppose  it  is.  But  you  don't  say  it 
exactly  as  though  —  ' ' 

Katharine  stopped  short.  She  was  afraid  of 
seeming  impulsive,  as  many  people  of  self-con 
tained  natures  are.  She  knew  that  she  was  not 
herself  very  expansive,  as  a  rule,  in  her  expressions 
of  affection.  But  Hester  was,  and  the  change  from 
her  former  manner  to  her  present  coldness  was 
startling.  One  may  miss  in  others  what  one  would 
not  have  in  oneself,  and  one  may  resent  another's 
refusal  to  give  it.  The  regret  of  missing  anything 
is  not  measured  by  its  value,  but  by  the  strength 
of  the  habit  its  presence  has  created.  Men  lib 
erated  after  years  of  captivity  have  missed  their 
chains.  The  Irish  woman  in  the  typical  story 
complained  that  her  husband  no  longer  beat  her. 
She  missed  it. 

"I'll  say  it  in  any  way  you  like,"  answered 
Hester,  hardly.  "It  seems  to  me  that  we're  just 
as  good  friends  as  ever.  I  see  no  difference." 

"I  do,"  answered  Katharine.  "And  there's 
always  going  to  be  a  difference,  now,"  she  added, 
regretfully. 


THE   R  ALSTONS.  199 

She  was  conscious  that  in  some  unaccountable 
way  the  positions  had  been  reversed  with  regard 
to  her  character  and  her  friend's.  It  should  natu 
rally  have  been  the  more  passionate,  expansive, 
sensitive  woman  who  should  be  almost  begging 
that  the  old  friendship  might  not  be  forgotten,  and 
Katharine  herself,  the  colder  of  the  two,  the  one  by 
far  less  easily  carried  away  by  passing  emotions, 
should  have  been  giving  the  assurance  that  noth 
ing  was  changed.  It  was  incomprehensible  to  her, 
as  well  it  might  be,  since  there  was  a  cause  for 
Hester's  behaviour  which  lay  very  far  from  the 
question  of  money,  though  the  coldness  which  the 
latter  had  caused  was  helping  to  make  matters 
worse. 

"  I  suppose  we're  outgrowing  each  other,"  sug 
gested  Hester,  who  was  more  or  less  anxious  to 
account  for  the  change,  since  Katharine  was  lay 
ing  such  great  stress  upon  it.  "  You  know  that's 
the  way  of  the  world,"  she  added,  tritely.  "  People 
are  ever  so  fond  of  each  other  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  all  at  once  they  rind  out  that  they're  not  what 
they  were,  you  know,  and  that  they  don't  really 
care." 

"Oh  —  do  you  look  at  it  in  that  way  ?  "  Katha 
rine's  voice  and  manner  changed,  for  she  was  hurt. 
"  But  don't  you  think  this  outgrowing,  as  you  call 
it,  has  been  rather  sudden  ?  It's  only  about  three 
weeks  since  we  were  talking  quite  differently.  It 
can't  be  more,  I'm  sure." 


200  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  asked  Hester,  indifferently.  "  Keally, 
it  seems  ever  so  long  since  we  sat  here  and  told 
each  other  things." 

There  is  a  beautiful  vagueness  about  the  language 
of  a  woman  when  she  wishes  to  have  something 
forgotten. 

"  It  seems  long  to  me,  too,  —  in  another  way," 
answered  Katharine.  "It's  far  off  —  like  a  good 
many  things  that  happened  then." 

Hester  made  no  answer  to  this  remark,  but 
leaned  back  against  her  cushion  and  meditatively 
nibbled  the  edge  of  a  ginger-snap. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Katharine,  "  if  you  want  it  all 
to  end  here,  I'm  not  going  to  cry  and  behave  like 
the  schoolgirl  you  talked  about  —  " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Hester,  munching  her  biscuit 
audibly  ;  "it  isn't  worth  it." 

"  Once  upon  a  time  we  should  both  have  thought 
it  was,"  answered  the  young  girl.  "But  when  a 
thing  like  friendship's  gone  —  it's  gone,  that's  all, 
and  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said  about  it." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  silly,  my  dear ! " 
exclaimed  Hester,  who,  having  swallowed  the 
remains  of  the  ginger-snap,  suddenly  realized  that 
she  might  at  least  bury  her  intima'cy  with  a 
protest  to  the  effect  that  it  was  not  dead.  "You 
really  go  on  as  though  we  were  lovers,  and  I  had 
betrayed  you.  In  the  first  place  it  doesn't  follow, 
because  we're  grown  up  and  not  exactly  what  we 


THE  RALSTONS.  201 

used  to  be,  that  there's  no  friendship  between  us. 
We  can  go  on  just  the  same  as  ever,  even  if  we 
talk  differently  and  gush  less,  and  we  can  see  just 
as  much  of  each  other  as  we  always  did.  You've 
got  some  idea  or  other  into  your  head  about  my 
being  cold,  because  I'm  sleepy  and  dull  to-day. 
Probably  the  next  time  we  meet  it  will  be  just 
the  opposite,  and  you'll  think  me  too  gushing." 

So  long  as  Hester  had  made  no  serious  pretence 
of  anything  more  than  she  felt,  confining  herself 
more  or  less  to  generalities  and  vaguely  saying 
that  she  desired  no  break,  Katharine  had  remained 
calm,  but  something  in  the  last  speech  seemed  to 
ring  outrageously  false,  and  the  blood  slowly  rose 
to  her  throat  and  ebbed  again  without  reaching  her 
cheeks. 

"Don't  pretend!"  she  exclaimed.  "  We've  got 
to  get  at  the  truth  to-day,  if  we're  ever  to  get  at  it 
at  all." 

Hester  raised  her  beautiful  eyebrows,  as  deli 
cately  and  finely  marked  as  though  they  had  been 
drawn  with  pen  and  ink. 

"My  dear  child!"  she  answered,  with  real  or 
affected  surprise.  "  Don't  fly  into  little  pink  rages 
like  that." 

"I'm  not  in  a  rage,"  protested  Katharine.  "And 
if  I  were,  I  shouldn't  be  pink  —  I  never  am.  But 
I  don't  want  you  to  pretend  things  you  don't  feel. 
We've  never  pretended  much  with  each  other,  and 


202  THE  R ALSTONS. 

I  don't  want  to  begin  now.  It's  over  and  done  for. 
Let's  make  up  our  minds  to  it  and  be  sensible.  I 
don't  see  that  there's  anything  else  to  be  done.  But 
don't  let's  pretend  things.  I  hate  that." 

"  Xot  half  so  much  as  I  do,  my  dear/'  said  Hes 
ter,  airily,  as  though  to  close  the  discussion.  "  I 
don't  see  the  slightest  good  in  talking  about  it  any 
more.  You've  got  it  into  your  head  that  I've 
changed.  If  you  believe  it,  you  know  it,  for  Mr. 
Griggs  says  that  —  " 

"  Do  leave  Mr.  Griggs  alone ! "  cried  Katharine, 
irritably.  "  It  isn't  a  mere  idea,  either.  You  said 
we'd  outgrown  each  other.  I'm  not  conscious  of 
having  grown  a  head  taller  in  the  last  three  weeks. 
But  so  far  as  talking  about  it  goes,  you're  quite 
right.  Only  —  "  her  voice  changed  again  and  took 
a  gentler  tone  —  "  let's  part  friends,  Hester,  for  the 
sake  of  all  that  has  been." 

"  Why,  of  course  ! "  exclaimed  Hester,  with  in 
sincere  frankness.  "That  is,  if  you  insist  upon 
parting,  as  you  call  it.  But  I  declare  !  we  might 
just  as  well  be  a  pair  of  lovers  quarrelling,  you 
know.  It's  just  about  as  sensible,  on  the  whole." 

"  I  suppose  things  mean  more  to  me  than  they 
do  to  you,"  answered  Katharine,  with  sudden  cold 
ness.  "  Friendship  —  like  everything  else  —  like  — 

She  was  going  to  say  l  like  love,'  but  checked  her 
self.  In  that  at  least  she  felt  that  she  must  have 
been  mistaken.  Whatever  else  she  might  think  of 


THE  E  ALSTONS.  203 

Hester,  she  knew  that  she  was  almost  insanely  in 
love  with  her  husband.  At  the  very  moment  when 
the  words  were  on  her  lips  the  thought  flashed 
through  her  mind,  that  with  Hester  it  might  be 
the  half-desperate,  all-absorbing  passion  which  was 
draining  her  of  all  capacity  for  any  other  attach 
ment.  Katharine  thought  of  herself  and  of  her 
love  for  Ralston,  and  felt  more  real  sympathy  for 
her  friend  just  then  than  she  had  felt  for  many  a 
day. 

As  she  ceased  speaking  she  heard  the  hall  door 
opened  and  shut  again,  just  outside  the  sitting- 
room,  and  a  moment  later  she  heard  Crowdie's  soft 
voice,  low  and  sweet,  humming  to  himself  as  he 
began  to  ascend  the  stairs.  As  she  turned  to  Hes 
ter,  as  though  to  continue  speaking,  she  saw  how 
the  pale  face  had  changed  in  a  moment.  Every 
faculty  was  strained  to  catch  the  faint  echo  of  the 
melody,  the  deep  eyes  gleamed,  there  was  colour  in 
the  transparent  cheeks,  the  dewy  lips  were  just 
parted.  There  was  nothing  unreal  nor  affected  in 
that. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

KATHARINE  could  not  keep  the  expression  of 
curiosity  out  of  her  eyes  as  she  watched  Hester 
Crowdie.  The  woman's  whole  manner  had  changed 
in  an  instant,  and  she  seemed  to  be  another  person. 
She  seemed  trying  to  hold  her  breath  to  catch  the 
distant  and  ever  retreating  sound  of  her  husband's 
voice.  The  colour  in  her  pale  cheeks  heightened 
and  paled  and  heightened  again  in  visible  varia 
tions.  Her  slender  throat  fluttered  with  quick 
pulsations  like  that  of  a  singing  bird  or  a  chame 
leon,  and  her  deep  eyes  were  filled  with  light. 
Katharine  even  fancied  that  the  little  ringlets  of 
soft  brown  hair  trembled  and  waved  like  the  leaves 
of  a  sensitive  plant,  impossible  as  it  was.  Hester's 
whole  being  was  all  at  once  intensely  alive,  in 
tensely  sensitive,  intensely  brilliant.  A  few  min 
utes  earlier  she  had  been  leaning  back  against  her 
cushion,  suppressing  a  yawn  from  time  to  time, 
saying  cold  and  disagreeable  things,  pale,  cool, 
diaphanous. 

Katharine  moved  slightly,  and  the  white  hand 
was  upon  hers  instantly,  with  a  light  touch  of 
warning,  as  though  to  silence  her,  lest  a  single 
204 


THE  RALSTONS.  205 

faint  echo  of  Crowdie's  voice  should  fail  to  reach 
Hester's  ears. 

The  young  girl  wondered  whether  she  herself 
ever  behaved  so  strangely  when  John  Ralston  was 
near,  and  whether  any  one  sitting  beside  her  could 
see  his  presence  reflected  in  her  eyes.  She  did  not 
know,  though  she  believed  herself,  as  she  really 
was,  colder  and  less  quick  to  show  what  she  felt. 
The  last  note  died  away  as  Crowdie  ascended  the 
staircase  and  got  out  of  hearing,  and  Hester  sank 
back  against  her  cushion  again.  The  colour  faded 
from  her  cheek,  the  light  died  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
throat  was  quiet.  The  bloodless  hands  just  met 
on  her  knees,  and  the  tips  of  the  slight  fingers 
tapped  one  another  nervously  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  lay  quite  still. 

There  had  been  something  in  the  quickly  succeed 
ing  changes  which  struck  Katharine  as  not  exactly 
human,  though  she  could  have  found  no  other 
word  with  which  to  describe  better  the  phases 
of  the  passing  sensitiveness  she  had  witnessed. 
But  it  had  been  more  like  the  infinitive  sensitive 
ness  of  nature  than  the  ordinary  responses  of  an 
impressionable  woman.  Katharine  had  thought  of 
the  sensitive  plant,  for  she  had  seen  many  in  hot 
houses  and  had  often  played  with  them,  softly 
stroking  the  fern-like  plumes  made  by  the  two 
rows  of  tiny  oval  leaves,  and  delighting  to  see 
how  they  rose  and  waved,  and  tried  to  find  and 


206  THE  EALSTONS. 

follow  her  finger.  And  she  thought,  too,  of  stories 
she  had  heard  about  the  behaviour  of  animals 
before  an  earthquake,  a  great  storm,  or  any  terri 
ble  convulsion  of  nature.  She  had  never  before 
quite  understood  that,  but  it  was  clear  to  her  now. 

At  the  same  time  she  felt  a  strong  sympathy  for 
Hester,  and  for  the  love  which  was  so  unmistak 
able  and  real.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  com 
prehend  how  such  love  could  exist  for  such  a  man 
as  Crowdie,  whom  she  herself  thought  so  strangely 
repulsive,  though  she  could  rind  nothing  to  say 
against  him.  It  could  only  be  explained  on  the 
ground  of  an  elective  affinity,  mysterious  in  its 
source,  but  most  manifest  in  its  results.  She  had 
never  been  allowed  to  read  Goethe's  great  book, 
but  the  title  of  it  had  always  meant  something  to 
her,  and  represented  a  set  of  ideas  which  she  used 
in  order  to  explain  the  inexplicable.  It  was  true, 
also,  so  far  as  she  could  see,  that  between  Hester 
and  Crowdie  the  affinity  was  mutual  and  almost 
equally  strong,  and  Katharine  thought  with  an 
unpleasant  sensation  of  the  way  Crowdie  some 
times  smiled  at  his  wife.  Of  course,  she  thought, 
if  one  did  not  object  to  a  certain  amount  of  woman 
liness  in  a  man's  looks  and  manner,  nor  to  a  pale, 
pear-shaped  face  with  intensely  red  lips,  nor  to  a 
figure  which  altogether  lacked  masculine  dignity  — 
if  one  could  forget  all  those  things  and  consider 
what  Crowdie  must  seem  to  a  blind  woman,  for 


THE  RALSTONS.  207 

instance,  and  if  one  could  forgive  a  certain  insolent 
softness  of  speech  which  now  and  then  was  his, 
why,  then,  Crowdie  was  one  of  the  most  charming 
of  men.  There  was  no  word  but  that  one.  Take 
him  all  in  all,  —  his  remarkable  power  as  a  portrait 
painter,  developed  by  study  and  real  industry,  his 
exquisite  voice  and  perfect  taste  in  singing  —  so 
perfect  that  there  was  not  a  trace  of  that  art 
which  it  is  art's  mission  to  conceal  —  his  conversa 
tion,  which  was  often  brilliant  and  almost  always 
interesting, — taking  him  all  in  all,  thought  Katha 
rine,  and  quite  apart  from  his  appearance,  he  was 
a  marvellously  gifted  man.  She  had  never  known 
a  man  like  him.  Paul  Griggs  was  not  to  be  de 
spised  as  a  judge  of  men,  for  he  had  seen  and 
known  many  who  were  worth  knowing,  and  Paul 
Griggs  liked  Crowdie  and  was  intimate  with  him. 
It  was  true  that  no  other  man  of  Katharine's 
acquaintance  liked  him,  but  Griggs'  opinion  might 
outweigh  that  of  many  just  men.  But  when  she 
thought  of  Crowdie's  appearance,  she  marvelled 
how  any  woman  could  love  him.  There  was  some 
thing  about  it  which  thrilled  her  painfully,  like  a 
strong,  bad  taste  —  yet  not  so  as  to  hinder  her 
from  feeling  sympathy  for  Hester,  in  spite  of  all 
the  latter  had  said  during  the  past  half  hour. 

"  How  you  love  him  !  "  she  exclaimed,  when  the 
voice  had  died  away,  and  Hester  leaned  back  again 
in  her  seat. 


208  THE  RALSTONS. 

The  words  were  spoken  impulsively  and  half 
unconsciously  —  the  natural  expression  of  the 
young  girl's  wonder.  But  Hester's  eyes  turned 
quickly,  with  a  suspicious  glance  which  Katharine 
did  not  see  and  could  not  have  understood. 

"Well — is  there  any  harm  in  my  loving  my 
husband  ?  "  asked  Hester,  in  a  tone  of  unmistak 
able  resentment. 

Katharine  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  surprise, 
not  realizing  that  she  could  possibly  have  given 
offence. 

"  Harm  !  why  no  —  no  more  harm  than  there  is 
in  my  saying  so  —  nor  than  I  meant,  when  I  spoke. 
Why,  are  you  angry  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  angry.  Why  did  you  say  it,  though  — 
and  just  then  ?  I  want  to  know." 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  Katharine,  and  a  little 
colour  came  back  suddenly  to  her  cheeks,  just 
where  it  had  been  while  Crowdie  was  singing  — 
as  a  transparent  glass,  that  has  been  heated  red  in 
the  flame  and  has  cooled,  flushes  where  it  had 
flushed  before,  almost  as  soon  as  it  is  brought  to 
the  fire. 

"  Why  did  I  say  it  ?  "  repeated  Katharine,  sur 
prised.  "I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  It  was  a  very 
natural  remark.  Everybody  knows  that  you  love 
your  husband  very  much.  I  suppose  it  struck  me 
particularly  at  that  moment.  How  strange  of  you 
to  take  offence  !  " 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  209 

"  I'm  not  offended.  I  only  want  to  know  why 
you  said  it  just  then.  Did  I  change  colour  —  or 
what  ?  " 

"  A  little  colour  came  into  your  face  —  yes.  It's 
very  becoming/'  added  Katharine,  by  way  of  pro 
pitiation. 

"Yes  —  I  know.  You  needn't  tell  me  that  I'm 
generally  too  pale.  Were  my  eyes  different  from 
usual  ?  " 

"  They  were  very  bright,  with  a  far-away  look  at 
the  same  time  —  as  though  you  saw  him  through 
the  wall." 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  would  have  noticed  how 
I  looked?  I  mean  —  any  one  sitting  near  me,  as 
you  are  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  —  yes,"  answered  Katharine, 
without  much  hesitation.  "  I  only  said  what  any 
one  would  have  thought  who  happened  to  see.  you 
just  then.  I  didn't  think  there  was  any  harm  in 
it.  I  shall  certainly  never  say  it  again,  since  you're 
displeased." 

"Oh  —  that  doesn't  matter  !  "  exclaimed  Hester, 
with  a  little  scornful  laugh.  "  As  we're  not  to  be 
friends  any  more,  you  can  displease  me  as  much  as 
you  like  now.  It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least ! " 

"  How  strange  you  are,  Hester  !  "  Katharine 
said,  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  in  the  least  under 
stand  you." 

"  We  never  really  understood  each  other,"  replied 

VOL.     II.  —  14 


210  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

Hester.  "  We  only  thought  we  did.  But  —  as  I 
say  —  since  we're  not  to  be  friends  any  more,  it's 
of  no  consequence." 

"  You  can't  say  that  —  that  we  never  understood 
each  other,"  said  Katharine.  "  It's  not  true." 

"Oh  yes,  it  is!  We  never  understood  —  never, 
what  I  mean  by  understanding.  So  I  blush,  and 
stare,  and  behave  like  a  schoolgirl,  when  Walter 
comes  in  singing !  I  didn't  know  it.  I  am  glad 
you've  told  me,  for  I  don't  like  to  do  foolish 
things  in  public." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  always  foolish  to  show  what 
one  feels.  It's  better  to  feel  something,  and  show 
it,  than  to  feel  nothing  at  all." 

"  I  should  think  so ! "  Hester  laughed  rather 
contemptuously  again,  and  glanced  at  Katharine's 
face. 

The  young  girl  moved,  as  though  she  were  about 
to  rise, — the  little  preliminary  movement  which 
most  women  make,  as  a  clock  gives  warning  five 
minutes  before  it  strikes.  It  is  often  a  tentative 
measure,  and  there  is  some  expectation  on  the 
part  of  her  who  moves  that  her  friend  will  make 
at  least  a  show  of  detaining  her.  When  she  does 
not  mean  to  do  so,  she  herself  generally  moves  a 
little,  which  precipitates  matters.  If  men  could 
understand  this,  they  would  more  often  be  able 
to  understand  whether  they  are  wanted  any  longer 
or  not.  But,  instead,  they  rarely  give  warning,  but 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  211 

seize  their  hats,  in  countries  where  it  is  manners 
to  carry  them,  and  rise  with  one  movement,  giving 
the  lady  no  choice  about  detaining  them  or  not. 

On  the  present  occasion,  as  soon  as  Katharine 
moved,  Hester  did  likewise,  sitting  up  straight, 
and  pushing  the  small  tea-table  a  little  away  from 
her,  in  order  to  make  room  for  herself  to  rise. 
Katharine  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  fact,  and  got 
up  at  once. 

"I'm  sorry  we  can't  make  it  up,  Hester,"  she 
said,  regretfully.  "I'm  sorry  if  we're  both  changed 
so  much  in  such  a  short  time.  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  it  possible." 

"  The  world's  full  of  surprises,"  observed  Hester, 
rising  and  slipping  out  from  behind  the  tea-table. 

"  Oh  —  really,  Hester  !  "  exclaimed  Katharine, 
impatiently.  "  You  needn't  make  it  worse  by  say 
ing  such  things  as  that,  you  know !  " 

"  What  things  ?  Isn't  it  true,  my  dear  ?  I'm 
sure  I've  found  the  world  a  very  surprising  place 
to  live  in.  Haven't  you  ?  " 

Katharine  said  nothing,  but  turned  her  face 
away  a  little,  and  made  haste  over  her  gloves, 
which  she  had  forgotten  to  put  on  before  rising, 
in  her  sudden  haste  to  get  away.  Hester  looked 
down  at  the  tea-table,  and  absently  took  up  a 
teaspoon  and  moved  a  little  leaf  that  lay  in  the 
bottom  of  the  empty  cup.  Katharine  was  only 
just  beginning  to  use  her  right  hand  a  little,  and 


212  THE  RALST03S. 

had  difficulty  in  buttoning  the  glove  on  her  left. 
She  tried  once  or  twice,  and  then  turned  to  Hester. 

"  I  wish  you'd  button  it  for  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
can't  do  anything  with  my  right  hand,  it's  so 
weak." 

She  held  out  her  left,  and  Hester  bent  over  it. 
But  before  she  had  fastened  two  buttons,  she 
started,  and  looked  at  the  door.  Her  quick  ear 
had  caught  her  husband's  footfall  as  he  came 
downstairs  again,  doubtless  in  search  of  her.  She 
paused,  and  held  her  breath,  listening,  though  he 
was  not  singing  now.  The  footsteps  came  nearer, 
the  handle  of  the  door  turned,  and  Crowdie 
entered  the  room. 

"  Oh  —  Miss  Lauderdale  ! "  he  exclaimed.  Then 
he  smiled  at  Hester,  who  held  out  her  hand,  and  he 
touched  it  with  his  lips,  in  a  foreign  fashion. 
"  You're  not  going  away  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to 
Katharine  again.  "Just  as  I've  come  in.  Do  sit 
down  again!  Now,  please  give  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
Hester  —  I'm  tired  and  thirsty  —  and  I've  been 
awfully  bored.  Do  sit  down,  Miss  Lauderdale! 
Just  a  minute,  to  please  me  !  " 

"Well  —  I  would,"  answered  Katharine,  affect 
ing  a  hesitation  she  did  not  feel,  in  order  not  to 
seem  ungracious.  "I  would  —  but  I  really  must 
be  going.  I've  been  here  ever  so  long,  already." 

"  Yes  —  but  you've  got  another  welcome  to  wear 
out  —  mine,"  he  said,  letting  his  voice  soften  and 
dwell  on  the  last  word. 


THE  KALSTONS.  213 

"  I  really  think  Katharine's  in  a  hurry,"  said 
Hester,  who  was  pale. 

Katharine  glanced  at  her  in  some  surprise.  She 
had  never  in  her  life  been  so  plainly  told  to  go 
away,  and  she  was  inclined  to  resent  the  rudeness. 
She  might  never  enter  the  house  again,  but  she 
did  not  choose  to  be  turned  out  of  it  by  a  woman 
who  a  few  weeks  earlier  had  professed  with  pro 
testations  that  she  was  her  dearest  and  closest 
friend. 

"  You  can't  be  in  •  such  a  hurry  as  all  that," 
objected  Crowdie,  who  supposed  that  Katharine 
had  really  said  that  she  was  pressed  for  time. 
"  Besides,  I've  got  something  to  show  you." 

"Have  you?"  asked  Katharine,  suddenly  glad 
of  an  excuse  for  staying  a  few  moments,  in  spite  of 
Hester's  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  her. 

Hester  looked  at  her  husband  in  surprise,  and 
her  finely  chiselled  lips  moved  and  almost  trem 
bled. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Walter  ?  "  she  asked,  in  an 
uncertain  tone. 

"  Oh  —  don't  you  know  ?  That  head  of  poor 
uncle  Kobert,  I  did  last  night.  I  want  to  show 
it  to  Miss  Lauderdale  —  she  knew  his  face  better 
than  any  of  us." 

Katharine  tried  to  detect  a  shade  of  irony  in 
the  words ;  but  they  were  spoken  quite  naturally, 
without  the  least  underthought. 


214  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  1  should  like  to  see  it,"  she  answered,  quietly, 
after  an  instant's  silence. 

"  I'll  get  it,"  said  Crowdie,  "  if  you  don't  mind 
waiting  a  minute.  It's  in  your  dressing-room, 
isn't  it,  Hester  ? "  he  asked,  turning  to  his  wife. 
"  You  were  looking  at  it  last  night,  just  before 
you  went  to  bed.  I  did  it  late  in  the  evening," 
he  added,  explaining  to  Katharine. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied.  "  I'll  wait  while  you 
get  it.  I  should  really  like  to  see  it." 

Crowdie  left  the  room,  an'd  her  eyes  followed 
him,  and  she  disliked  the  undulating,  feminine 
swing  of  his  walk.  He  was  badly  made,  having 
low,  sloping  shoulders,  and  being  heavy  about  the 
waist,  though  he  was  not  stout.  He  left  the  door 
open,  and  the  two  women  waited  in  silence,  not  look 
ing  at  one  another.  A  moment  later  they  heard 
Crowdie  moving  about  overhead,  where  Hester's 
dressing-room  was  situated,  corresponding  with  the 
sitting-room  in  which  they  were.  Hester  listened 
intently,  her  eyes  turned  upwards  towards  the 
ceiling,  as  though  they  could  help  her  to  hear. 

"He  can't  find  it,"  she  said.  "I'd  better  go 
and  help  him  —  he'll  never  find  it  alone." 

She  made  a  step  towards  the  door,  paused, 
and  listened  again.  The  wrathful  instinct  grew 
stronger  in  Katharine.  She  imagined  that  Hester 
had  thought  of  going  upstairs  in  order  to  escape 
from  the  unpleasantness  of  being  alone  with  her 
a  little  longer. 


THE  RALSTONS.  215 

"  If  you'd  finish  buttoning  my  glove,"  she  said, 
calmly,  "I'll  go  without  waiting.  I'm  very  sorry, 
but  I  can't  do  it  myself." 

Hester's  eyebrows  twitched  irritably,  but  she 
bent  over  the  outstretched  hand,  for  she  could  not 
do  otherwise.  A  moment  later  Crowdie's  foot 
step  was  heard  on  the  stairs  again,  and  he  came  in 
tli  rough  the  open  door. 

"I've  hunted  everywhere!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
can't  think  where  you've  put  it.  I  wish  you'd  go 
and  find  it  for  me,  dear.  It's  awfully  stupid  of 
me,  I  know  !  " 

"Oh  —  I  know  just  where  it  is,"  answered 
Hester.  "You  must  have  seen  it  —  why,  I  set  it 
up  on  the  toilet-table,  on  one  side  of  the  looking- 
glass,  turned  to  the  light." 

"  Well  —  it's  not  there  now,"  said  Crowdie,  "  be 
cause  I've  just  looked." 

"I'm  sure  it's  there,"  replied  Hester,  going 
towards  the  door.  "  Nobody  could  have  moved 
it." 

"Go  and  see,  darling — I  assure  you  I've  looked 
everywhere  for  it,  and  I  don't  believe  it's  in  the 
room  at  all." 

It  was  one  of  those  absurd  little  discussions 
which  occur  between  two  people,  the  one  who  has 
seen,  and  the  other  who  believes.  Hester  left  the 
room  rather  impetuously,  being  absolutely  sure 
that  she  was  right.  She,  also,  left  the  door  open 
behind  her. 


216  THE  R  ALSTONS. 

"  Can't  I  button  your  glove  for  you  ? "  asked 
Crowdie.  "I  saw  that  Hester  was  doing  it  when 
I  came  in." 

Crowdie's  touch  was  intensely  disagreeable  to 
Katharine,  but  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  in 
spite  of  the  fact.  Just  then,  she  felt  that  she 
should  almost  prefer  to  let  him  do  it,  rather  than 
let  Hester  help  her.  She  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  half  turned  away  from  the 
door. 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  to  see  the  sketch," 
said  Crowdie,  fastening  the  button  nearest  to  her 
wrist  with  his  deft,  pointed  fingers,  skilful  as  any 
woman's.  "I  did  it  on  a  board  last  night  —  just 
a  crayon  thing  from  memory,  with  an  old  photo 
graph  to  help  me.  Hester  thought  it  was  very 
like.  If  you  approve  of  it,  I'll  paint  a  picture 
from  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would ! "  answered  Katharine. 
"There  never  was  anything  good  of  him — I 
should  so  like  to  have  something  — " 

She  checked  herself,  having  momentarily  for 
gotten  that  Crowdie  had  been  a  very  heavy  loser, 
through  his  wife,  by  the  decision  in  the  case  of 
the  will,  and  that  he  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
make  a  present  to  one  of  her  family,  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate  ?  "  he  asked,  pausing  at 
the  last  button  and  looking  into  her  face. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  217 

"  Oh  —  because  —  I  don't  know  !  "  She  was  a 
little  embarrassed.  "I  was  afraid  I'd  spoken  as 
though  I  meant  to  ask  for  the  sketch." 

"  You  didn't !  "  laughed  Crovvdie,  softly.  "  You're 
going  to  have  it  anyway.  I  made  it  for  you." 

"I  don't  believe  that,"  answered  Katharine, 
quickly,  but  smiling.  "  You're  only  trying  to  help 
me  out  of  my  rudeness.  But  it's  very  generous  of 
you  to  think  of  giving  me  anything,  after  all  that's 
happened." 

"  Why  ?  Do  you  mean  about  the  will  ?  Really, 
Miss  Lauderdale,  if  you  think  I'm  that  sort  of 
person  —  " 

He  stopped  and  laughed  again,  so  naturally  and 
easily  that  she  hardly  doubted  his  sincerity.  His 
womanish  eyes  looked  innocently  into  hers.  He 
held  her  left  wrist  in  both  his  hands,  just  as  he 
had  paused  in  the  act  of  buttoning  the  glove. 

Overhead,  Hester's  light  footstep^  was  audible  in 
the  short  silence  that  followed,  as  she  moved  about 
the  room,  searching  for  the  sketch,  which  had 
evidently  not  been  in  the  place  where  she  had 
left  it. 

"Besides,"  added  Crowdie,  after  a  short  pause, 
"you're  not  your  father.  And  if  you  were,"  he 
continued,  lightly,  "that  wouldn't  be  a  reason  for 
being  horrid.  The  law  decided  it,  and  I  suppose 
the  law  was  right.  Mr.  Lauderdale  didn't  make 
the  law,  and  it  gave  him  his  rights.  Hester  and  I 


218  THE   RALSTONS. 

shall  get  along  just  as  well  on  Avhat  we've  always 
had.  I  don't  complain.  Of  course  it  would  be 
nice  to  buy  Greek  islands,  and  play  with  marble 
palaces  and  Oriental  luxury.  But  after  all,  I'm  a 
painter.  I  suppose  it's  an  assumption,  or  a  boast, 
or  something.  But  I  don't  care  —  before  you  —  I 
like  painting,  and  I  should  always  paint,  and  I 
should  always  want  to  sell  my  pictures,  if  I  had  a 
hundred  millions.  What  could  Hester  and  I  do 
with  five  or  six  hundred  thousand  a  year  ?  That 
would  have  been  about  our  share.  I  shouldn't 
feel  like  myself,  if  I  didn't  earnv  money  by  what 
I  do.  I  suppose  you  can't  understand  that,  can 
you  ?  " 

"Oh  yes,  I  can,"  answered  Katharine,  quickly. 
"  I  understand  it,  and  I  like  it  in  you.  It's  because 
you're  not  an  amateur  that  you  feel  like  that." 

"I'm  not  exactly  an  amateur,"  said  Crowdie,  with 
a  smile.  "As  for  the  sketch,  or  the  picture,  if  I 
paint  it,  they're  yours.  You  were  the  old  gentle 
man's  favourite,  and  it's  right  that  you  should 
have  a  portrait  of  him  —  that  is  —  if  you'll  accept 
it." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  don't  know  about 
taking  it,  exactly  —  it's  much  too  generous  of  you." 

She  knew  what  Crowdie's  work  was  worth,  for 
he  was  a  very  successful  man  at  portrait  painting, 
and  he  had  never  seemed  to  care  much  for  any 
other  variety  of  the  art.  He  was  more  or  less  of 


THE  EALSTONS.  219 

a  specialist  in  his  own  department,  but  so  far  as  he 
went,  he  brought  an  amount  of  experience  and  a 
richness  of  conception  to  bear  upon  what  he  did, 
which  had  carried  him  beyond  most  rivals.  Pos 
sibly  he  had  not  in  him  the  stuff  which  makes  the 
greatest  artists  —  the  manly,  ascetic,  devoted  nature 
which  has  in  it  a  touch  of  the  fanatic,  the  absolute 
concentration  of  all  faculties  upon  a  single  but 
many-sided  task.  He  was,  in  a  way,  the  product  of 
the  age,  an  artist  and  a  good  one,  but  a  specialist 
—  an  expert  in  the  painting  of  portraits.  All  his 
gifts  favoured  and  strengthened  the  tendency. 

"I  don't  see  anything  generous  in  offering  you 
one  of  my  daubs  ! "  he  laughed,  in  answer  to  what 
Katharine  had  said  last.  "  Hester  can't  find  it  — 
I  knew  it  wasn't  where  she  said  it  was,"  he  added, 
after  a  short  pause,  during  which  he  listened  for 
his  wife's  footstep. 

"  Please  button  the  last  button,  too,"  said  Katha 
rine,  who  had  listened  also,  but  had  heard  nothing. 
"  You're  so  awfully  clever  at  it." 

"Am  I?"  he  asked,  still  smiling.  "This  is 
evidently  my  day  of  grace  and  favour  in  your  royal 
eyes." 

His  beautiful  voice  had  an  inflection  of  some 
thing  like  tenderness  in  it,  which  displeased  Katha 
rine.  She  pushed  his  hands  lightly  with  hers  as 
he  held  it,  to  remind  him  of  what  he  was  doing. 

"  Please   button  it ! "   she  said,  a  little  imperi- 


220  THE  EALSTONS. 

ously,  and  looking  at  the  button  in  question  as  she 
spoke,  but  quite  conscious  of  his  eyes. 

He  inclined  his  head  dutifully,  after  gazing  at 
her  an  instant  longer,  and  then  bent  over  the  hand 
again  and  quietly  slipped  the  button  through  the 
button-hole,  touching  it  very  delicately  and  in 
evident  fear  of  tightening  the  glove  so  as  to  pinch 
her  arm.  Gloves  with  buttons  chanced  to  be  the 
fashion  just  then,  in  an  interval  between  two  fits 
of  the  Biarritz  gauntlet.  When  he  had  performed 
the  little  operation,  he  glanced  at  each  of  the 
others  in  turn,  touching  each  with  his  finger,  while 
Katharine  watched  him  carelessly.  Then,  before 
she  could  withdraw  her  hand,  he  bent  his  head  a 
little  more  and  lightly  kissed  the  button  at  her 
wrist,  releasing  it  instantly. 

Katharine  drew  it  back  almost  before  he  had 
let  it  go,  with  a  quick  movement  of  displeasure. 

"  Don't  do  that ! "  she  cried,  in  a  low  voice. 

But  as  he  raised  his  head  Crowdie  turned  ashy 
pale.  Even  his  lips  lost  some  of  their  over-brilliant 
colour,  and  his  eyes  lost  their  light.  Hester  had 
descended  the  stairs  noiselessly  and  stood  in  the 
open  door,  her  face  whiter  than  his.  As  their 
glances  met,  she  dropped  the  sheet  of  pasteboard 
she  held  in  one  hand  by  her  side,  and  steadied 
herself  against  the  door-post.  Katharine  turned 
quickly  and  saw  her.  It  did  not  strike  the  young 
girl  that  such  agitation  could  be  due  to  having 


THE  RALSTONS.  221 

seen  what  Crowdie  had  done.  Katharine  herself 
had  been  annoyed,  but,  after  all,  it  was  an  innocent 
offence,  she  thought,  especially  for  a  man  who  had 
lived  long  abroad,  and  could  not  be  supposed  to 
attach  much  importance  to  the  act  of  touching  a 
glove  with  his  lips,  when  he  had  been  long  familiar 
with  the  custom  of  kissing  a  lady's  hand  instead 
of  shaking  it  at  meeting  and  parting,  if  the  hand 
were  offered  to  him. 

"Why,  Hester!"  she  exclaimed.  "What's  the 
matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"No  —  it's  nothing,"  answered  Hester,  twisting 
her  lips  to  form  the  words.  "  Here's  the  drawing. 
I  ran  —  I'm  out  of  breath." 

She  held  it  out  as  she  spoke,  and  Crowdie  took 
it  from  her  mechanically.  His  hand  trembled  as 
he  did  so,  for  he  was  a  coward.  Hester  turned 
from  them  both  and  went  to  the  open  window. 
She  lifted  one  hand  and  rested  it  on  the  sash  at 
the  level  of  her  head.  They  could  not  see  that  the 
other  was  pressed  to  her  heart,  for  she  kept  the 
elbow  close  to  her  side.  Crowdie  was  still  pale 
and  trembling,  and  he  glanced  uneasily  towards 
her,  as  he  held  up  the  drawing  to  Katharine  to 
look  at. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  said  the  young  girl,  uncon 
sciously  speaking  in  a  low  voice.  "Your  hand 
shakes." 

She  began  to  wonder  exactly  what  had  taken 


222  THE  BALSTONS. 

place,  and  could  find  no  explanation  except  Crow- 
die's  small  offence.  Instantly,  she  understood  that 
Hester  was  desperately  jealous  of  her.  It  some 
times  takes  longer  to  understand  such  things  in 
real  life,  when  they  are  very  far  from  one's  thoughts, 
than  to  guess  them  from  the  most  meagre  descrip 
tion  of  what  has  taken  place.  Katharine  almost 
laughed  when  she  realized  the  truth.  She  looked 
intently  at  the  drawing. 

"  It's  wonderfully  like  !  "  she  exclaimed,  feeling 
that  matters  would  be  worse  if  she  did  not  express 
some  admiration  of  the  work,  though  she  found  it 
hard  to  concentrate  her  attention  upon  the  familiar 
features.  "  Especially  the  "  —  she  did  not  know 
what  she  was  saying  — "  the  beard,"  she  added, 
completing  her  sentence. 

"Ah,  yes  —  the  beard  —  as  you  say,"  responded 
Crowdie,  in  a  rather  tremulous  tone,  arid  glancing 
at  his  wife's  figure.  Then  he  laughed  very  ner 
vously.  "  Yes  —  the  beard's  like,  isn't  it  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  very ! "  answered  Katharine,  looking  quickly 
at  Hester  and  then  intently  at  the  pasteboard 
again.  "  Every  hair  —  " 

"Yes."  And  Crowdie  tried  to  laugh  again,  as 
though  it  would  help  him.  "  There  are  hairs  in 
the  pasteboard,  too  —  sticking  up  here  and  there 
—  it  helps  the  illusion,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  so  there  are  !  "     Katharine  looked  at  the 


THE  RALSTONS.  223 

drawing  in  silence  for  a  moment  and  collected  her 
self.  "  The  expression's  very  good,"  she  said.  "  I 
like  a  picture  when  the  eyes  look  right  at  you." 

She  raised  her  own  mechanically  as  she  spoke, 
and  she  realized  how  white  he  was.  She  held  out 
the  drawing  to  him. 

"Thanks,  so  much,"  she  said.  "I'm  glad  to 
have  seen  it.  It  was  so  good  of  you.  I  really 
must  be  going  now.  It's  getting  late." 

He  took  the  drawing  and  laid  it  carefully  upon 
the  table,  with  the  instinctive  forethought  of  the 
artist  for  the  safety  of  his  work. 

"Good-bye,  Hester,"  said  Katharine,  moving  a 
step  towards  the  window. 

Hester  turned  abruptly.  There  were  deep  shad 
ows  under  her  eyes,  and  there  was  a  bright  colour 
in  her  face  now,  but  not  like  that  which  had  come 
to  it  when  her  husband  had  passed  the  door,  sing 
ing.  As  she  stood  with  her  back  against  the  bright 
light  of  the  window,  however,  Katharine  could 
hardly  distinguish  her  features. 

"  Oh  —  good-bye,"  said  Hester  in  a  strange,  cold 
voice,  not  moving  and  not  holding  out  her  hand. 

But  Katharine  extended  her  own,  for  she  entirely 
refused  to  be  treated  as  though  she  had  injured  her 
friend,  just  as  ?  little  while  earlier,  she  had  chosen 
to  stay  a  few  minutes  rather  than  to  take  a  hint  so 
broad  that  it  sounded  like  an  order  to  go.  She 
went  nearer  to  the  window. 


224  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  Good-bye,  Hester/'  she  repeated,  holding  out 
her  hand  in  such  a  way  that  Hester  could  not 
refuse  to  take  it. 

And  Hester  took  it,  but  dropped  it  again  in 
stantly.  Katharine  nodded  quietly,  turned,  nodded 
again  to  Crowdie  in  exactly  the  same  way,  and  passed 
out  through  the  open  door,  calmly  and  proudly,  being 
quite  sure  that  she  had  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of.  She  knew,  at  the  moment,  that  all  hope  of  ever 
renewing  her  friendship  was  gone,  at  least  for  the 
present,  and  she  regretted  the  fact  to  the  last 
minute,  and  was  willing  to  show  that  she  did. 
Hester's  behaviour  had  been  incomprehensible  from 
the  first,  and  it  was  still  a  mystery  to  Katharine 
when  she  left  the  house.  One  thing  only  was 
clear,  and  that  was  the  woman's  uncontrollable 
jealousy  during  the  little  scene  which  had  taken 
place.  The  idea  of  connecting  that  jealousy  with 
former  events  never  crossed  the  young  girl's  mind, 
and  of  finding  an  original  cause  for  it  in  the  fact 
of  Crowdie's  having  sung  at  Mrs.  Bright's  on  a 
certain  evening  three  weeks  earlier.  Still  less 
could  she  have  guessed  that  it  had  begun  long  ago, 
during  the  preceding  winter,  when  she  had  sat  for 
her  portrait  in  Crowdie's  studio,  while  Hester  lay 
extended  upon  the  divan  where  she  could  watch 
her  husband's  face,  and  note  every  passing  look  of 
admiration  that  crossed  it,  as  he  of  necessity  studied 
the  features  of  his  model.  Such  an  idea  was  alto- 


THE  EALSTONS.  225 

gether  too  far  removed  from  Katharine,  in  her 
ignorance  of  human  nature  —  as  far  as  Hester's 
passion  for  her  husband,  which  went  beyond  the 
limits  of  what  the  young  girl  had  ever  dreamed  of 
in  its  excessive  sensitiveness. 

Katharine  closed  the  front  door  behind  her  and 
went  out  into  the  street.  As  she  descended  the 
neat  white  stone  steps  she  was  close  to  the  open 
windows  of  the  little  sitting-room  and  could  have 
heard  anything  which  might  have  been  said  within. 
But  no  sound  of  voices  reached  her.  She  could 
not  help  glancing  over  her  shoulder  towards  the 
window,  as  she  turned  away,  and  she  could  see  that 
Hester  was  still  standing  with  her  back  to  it,  as 
she  had  stood  when  Katharine  had  insisted  upon 
taking  leave  of  her. 

She  walked  slowly  homewards,  wondering  what 
was  taking  place  since  she  had  left  the  two  together, 
and  going  over  in  her  mind  the  details  of  the  scene. 
She  remembered  Crowdie's  face  very  distinctly. 
She  was  not  sure  that  she  had  ever  in  her  life  seen 
a  man  badly  frightened  before,  and  it  had  produced 
a  very  vivid  impression  upon  her  at  the  time.  And 
she  recalled  the  picture  of  Hester,  standing  in  the 
doorway,  the  pasteboard  at  her  feet,  and  her  hand 
raised  to  support  herself  against  the  doorway.  She 
had  heard  of  i  domestic  tragedies,'  as  they  are 
called  in  the  newspapers,  and  she  wondered  whether 
they  ever  began  in  that  way. 

VOL.    II. 15 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

HESTER  CROWDIE  heard  Katharine's  footfall 
outside,  and  did  not  move  from  her  position  at  the 
window  until  she  had  listened  to  the  last  retreat 
ing  echo  of  the  young  girl's  light  step  upon  the 
pavement.  It  was  very  still  after  that,  for  Lafay 
ette  Place  is  an  unfrequented  corner  —  a  quiet 
island,  as  it  were,  round  which  the  great  rivers  of 
traffic  flow  in  all  directions.  Only  now  and  then 
a  lumbering  van  thunders  through  it,  to  draw  up 
at  the  great  printing  establishment  at  the  southeast 
corner,  or  a  private  carriage  rolls  along  and  stops, 
with  a  discreet  clatter,  at  the  Bishop's  House,  on 
the  west  side,  almost  opposite  the  dowdies' 
dwelling. 

But  as  Hester  stood  in  silence,  with  her  back  to 
the  window,  her  eyes  rested  with  a  fixed  look  on 
her  husband's  face.  He  was  pale,  and  his  own 
beautiful  eyes  had  lost  their  self-possessed  calm. 
He  looked  at  her,  but  his  glance  shifted  quickly 
from  one  point  to  another  —  from  her  throat  to 
her  shoulder,  from  her  hair  to  the  window  behind 
her  —  in  a  frightened  and  anxious  way,  avoiding  her 
steady  gaze. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  227 

What  he  had  done  was  harmless  enough,  if  not 
altogether  innocent,  in  itself.  That  there  had 
been  something  not  exactly  right  about  it,  or  about 
the  way  in  which  he  had  done  it,  was  indirectly 
proved  by  Katharine's  own  quick  displeasure. 
But  he  knew,  himself,  how  much  it  had  meant  to 
Hester,  over,  above  and  beyond  any  commonly 
simple  interpretation  which  might  be  put  upon  it. 
His  face  and  manner  showed  that  he  knew  it,  long 
before  she  spoke  the  first  word  of  what  was  to 
come. 

"  Walter ! " 

She  uttered  his  name  in  a  low  tone  that  quivered 
with  the  pain  she  felt,  full  of  suffering,  and  re 
proach,  and  disappointment.  Instantly  his  eyes 
fell  before  hers,  but  he  answered  nothing.  He 
looked  at  his  own  white  hand  as  it  rested  on  the 
back  of  a  chair. 

"  Look  at  me ! "  she  said,  almost  sharply,  with 
a  rising  intonation. 

He  looked  up  timidly,  and  a  slight  flush  ap 
peared  on  his  pale  forehead,  but  not  in  his  cheeks. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  make  such  a  fuss  about 
nothing,"  he  said,  in  the  colourless  voice  of  a 
frightened  boy,  caught  in  mischief  before  he  has 
had  time  to  invent  an  excuse. 

"  Don't  use  such  absurd  words ! "  cried  Hester, 
with  sudden  energy.  "  It's  bad  enough  as  it  is. 
You  love  her.  Say  so  !  Be  a  man  —  be  done  with 
it!" 


228  THE  KALSTONS. 

"  I  certainly  won't  say  that,"  answered  Crowdio, 
regaining  a  little  self-possession  under  the  exag 
gerated  accusation.  "  It  wouldn't  be  true." 

"  I've  seen  —  I  know  ! "  She  turned  from  him 
again  and  rested  her  forehead  on  her  hands  against 
the  raised  sash  of  the  window. 

He  gained  courage,  when  he  no  longer  felt  her 
eyes  upon  him,  and  he  found  words. 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  that  I  love  Katharine 
Lauderdale,"  he  said.  "  You  saw  what  I  did,  and 
all  I  did.  Well  —  what  harm  was  there  in  kissing 
her  hand  —  not  her  hand,  her  glove,  when  I  had 
fastened  it  ?  " 

"  What  harm ! "  she  repeated,  in  a  low  voice, 
without  turning  to  him,  and  moving  her  head  a 
little  against  her  hands. 

"  Yes  —  what  harm  was  there,  I  ask  ?  Wasn't 
it  a  perfectly  natural  thing  to  do  ?  Haven't  you 
seen  me  —  " 

"  Natural ! "  Hester  turned  again  very  quickly 
and  came  forward  two  steps  into  the  room.  "  Nat 
ural  !  "  she  repeated.  "  Yes  —  that's  it  —  it  was 
natural  —  oh,  too  natural !  What  else  could  you 
do  ?  Buttoning  her  glove  —  her  hand  in  yours  — 
and  you,  loving  her  —  you  kissed  it !  Ah,  yes,  —  I 
know  how  natural  it  was  !  And  you  tell  me  there 
was  no  harm  in  it !  What's  harm,  then  ?  What 
does  the  word  mean  to  you  ?  Nothing  ?  Is  there 
no  harm  in  hurting  me  ?  " 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  229 

"But  Hester,  love  — " 

"And  as  though  you  did  not  know  it — as  though 
you  had  not  turned  white  when  you  saw  me  at  the 
door  there,  looking  at  you  !  If  there  were  no  harm, 
you  needn't  have  been  afraid  of  me.  You'd  have 
smiled  instead  of  getting  pale  ;  you'd  have  held 
her  hand  still,  instead  of  dropping  it,  and  you'd 
have  kissed  it  again,  to  show  me  how  little  it 
meant.  No  harm,  indeed  !  " 

"Your  face  was  enough  to  scare  any  one,  sweet 
heart.  I  thought  you  were  ill  and  were  going  to 
faint." 

He  spoke  softly  now,  in  his  golden  voice,  and 
threw  more  persuasion  into  the  thin  excuse  than 
its  words  held. 

"Don't —  don't!"  she  cried.  "You're  tearing 
love  to  pieces  with  every  word  you  say  —  if  you 
know  what  you're  saying !  I  tell  you  I've  seen, 
and  I  know  !  This  is  the  end  —  not  the  beginning. 
I  saw  it  beginning  long  ago  —  last  winter,  when 
she  sat  to  you  day  after  day,  and  I  lay  in  my  cor 
ner  and  watched  you  watching  her,  and  your  eyes 
lighting  up,  and  that  smile  of  yours  that  was  only 
for  me  —  " 

"  But  I  was  painting  her  portrait  —  I  had  to 
look  at  her  —  " 

"Not  like  that !  Oh,  no,  not  like  that!  There's 
no  reason,  there  never  was  any  reason,  why  you 
should  look  at  any  woman  like  that  —  as  you've 


230  THE  RALSTONS. 

looked  at  me.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  let  it  go  on, 
to  trust  myself,  to  believe  that  I  could  be  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  for  you  !  And  then,  the  other 
day,  when  you  sang  to  her  before  all  those  people  ; 
do  you  remember  what  you  once  promised  me  ? 
Do  you  remember  at  all  that  you  swore  to  me 
by  all  you  held  sacred  that  you'd  never,  never 
sing,  unless  I  w^re  there  to  hear  you  ?  How  you 
told  me  that  your  voice  was  mine,  and  only  for  me, 
and  for  no  one  else,  because  that  at  least  you  could 
keep  for  me,  though  you  couldn't  keep  your  art 
and  make  that  all  mine,  too  ?  And  then  you  sang 
to  her  —  I  know,  for  they  told  me — you  sang  my 
song,  the  one  I  loved,  from  Lohengrin  !  Why  did 
you  do  that  ?  " 

"Why  —  I  told  you  the  other  day — we  talked  of 
it,  don't  you  remember  ?  Why  do  you  go  back  to 
it  now,  dear  ?  " 

"Because  it's  part  of  it  all,"  she  cried,  passion 
ately.  "  Because  it  was  only  one  of  so  many 
things  that  have  all  led  up  to  this  that  you've  done 
now.  I  told  you  how  I  hated  her,  the  other  day, 
and  I  made  you  say  that  you  hated  her,  too,  though 
you  didn't  want  to  say  it.  But  you  did,  and  you 
meant  it  for  a  little  minute  —  just  while  it  lasted. 
But  you  can't  hate  her  when  she's  here  —  you 
can't  because  you  love  her,  and  one  can't  hate  and 
love  at  the  same  time,  though  I  do  —  but  that's  dif 
ferent.  You  love  her,  Walter !  You  love  her  — 
you  love  her  —  " 


THE  RALSTONS.  231 

"  You're  beside  yourself,  darling,"  said  Crowdie, 
softly.  "  Don't  talk  like  this  !  Be  reasonable  ! 
Listen  to  ine,  sweet!  " 

He  knelt  down  beside  her  as  she  threw  herself 
into  a  low  chair,  and  he  tried  to  take  her  hands. 
But  she  drew  them  away,  wringing  them  as  though 
to  shake  something  from  her  fingers,  and  turning 
her  face  from  him,  as  she  clasped  the  back  of  the 
chair  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried,  quivering  all  over.  "  I'm 
not  mad.  I  know  what  I'm  saying  —  God  knows, 
I  wish  I  didn't." 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  her  head  fell 
against  her  hands.  Crowdie  laid  one  of  his  upon 
her  arm,  and  she  quivered  again,  like  a  nervous 
thoroughbred.  Crowdie's  own  voice  was  full  of 
soft  pleading  as  he  spoke  to  her. 

"  My  sweet  —  my  precious  !  Listen  to  me,  love ; 
don't  think  I  don't  love  you,  not  even  for  one  in 
stant,  nor  that  I  ever  loved  you  even  a  little  less. 
Hester,  look  at  me,  darling  —  don't  turn  your  face 
away  as  though  you  were  always  going  to  be  angry 
—  it's  all  a  wretched  mistake,  dear  !  Won't  you  try 
and  believe  me  ?  " 

But  Hester  would  not  turn  to  him. 

"  What  has  she  got  that  I  haven't  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  a  low  monotonous  tone,  as  though  speaking  to 
herself. 

"Nothing,  beloved  —  not  half  of  all  you  have, 
not  a  quarter  nor  a  hundredth  part  — ' 


232  THE  RALSTONS. 

«  Yes  —  she's  more  beautiful,  I  suppose,"  con 
tinued  Hester,  speaking  into  the  chair  as  she  buried 
her  face.  "  But  surely  that's  all  —  oh,  what  is  it  ? 
What  else  is  it  that  she  has,  and  that  I  haven't, 
and  that  you  love  in  her  ?  " 

"  But  I  don't  love  her  —  I  don't  care  for  her  — 
I  don't  even  like  her  —  I  hate  her  since  she's  come 
between  you  and  me,  dear." 

"No  —  you  love  her.  I've  seen  it  in  your  eyes 
—  you  can't  hide  it  in  your  eyes.  You  do !  You 
love  her!"  she  cried,  suddenly  raising  her  face 
and  turning  upon  him  for  a  moment,  then  looking 
away  again  almost  instantly.  "  Oh,  what  has  she 
got  that  I  haven't?  What's  her  secret  —  oh,  what 
is  it?" 

Crowdie  bent  over  her  shoulder  and  kissed  the 
stuff  of  her  frock  softly. 

"Darling!  Don't  make  so  much  of  so  very 
little  ! "  he  whispered,  close  to  her  ear.  "  I  tell 
you  I  love  you,  sweet  —  you  must  believe  me  — 
you  shall  believe  me !  I'll  kiss  you  till  you  do." 

"  No  ! "  she  exclaimed,  almost  fiercely.  "  You 
shan't  kiss  me  !  " 

And  she  rose  with  a  spring,  and  left  him  kneel 
ing  beside  the  empty  chair.  He  struggled  to  his 
feet,  cut  by  the  ridicule  of  his  own  attitude.  But 
he  could  not  move  easily  and  swiftly  as  she  could, 
being  badly  made.  She  stood  back,  looking  at 
him  over  the  chair,  and  her  eyes  flashed  angrily. 
He  moved  towards  her,  but  she  drew  further  back. 


THE  R ALSTONS.  233 

"  Don't  come  near  me  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  won't 
let  you  touch  me  ! " 

"  Hester ! "  His  voice  trembled  as  he  uttered 
her  name. 

"  No  —  I  know  what  you  can  do  with  your 
voice!  I  don't  believe  you  any  longer  —  you've 
spoken  to  her  just  like  that  —  you've  called  her 
Katharine,  just  as  you  call  me  Hester !  Oh  no, 
no!  It's  all  false  —  it  doesn't  ring  true  any  more. 
Go  —  I  don't  want  to  see  you  —  I  don't  want  to 
know  you're  here  —  " 

But  still  he  tried  to  get  nearer  to  her  with 
pleading  eyes  that  were  beginning  to  light  up  as 
he  moved,  making  his  feet  slide  upon  the  carpet, 
rather  than  walking. 

"  Don't ! "  she  cried.  "  Don't  come  near  me  ! 
If  you  touch  me  —  I'll  kill  you ! " 

Her  hands  went  out  to  resist  him,  and  her  low, 
passionate  cry  of  warning  vibrated  in  the  little 
room.  Crowdie  was  startled,  even  then,  and  he 
paused,  checked  as  though  cold  water  had  been 
thrown  in  his  face.  Then,  very  much  discomfited, 
he  turned  and,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  pockets 
of  his  jacket,  began  to  walk  up  and  down,  passing 
and  repassing  her  as  she  stood  back  against  the 
fireplace.  Her  eyes  followed  him  fiercely,  and 
she  breathed  audibly  with  a  quick,  sob-like  breath, 
with  parted  lips,  between  her  teeth. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,"  he  said,  in 


234  THE  RALSTONS. 

a  tone  of  a  man  who  is  at  his  wit's  end  and  is 
debating  with  himself. 

"  Say  nothing  —  go  —  what  could  you  say  ?  " 

"I  could  say  a  great  many  things,"  he  answered, 
growing  calm  again  in  the  attempt  to  argue  the 
case.  "In  the  first  place,  it's  all  a  piece  of  the 
most  extraordinary  exaggeration  on  your  part  — 
the  whole  thing  —  pretending  that  a  man  can't 
kiss  a  girl's  glove  without  being  in  love  with  her ! 
As  though  there  had  been  any  secret  about  it ! 
Why,  the  door  was  wide  open  —  of  course  you 
might  have  come  in  at  any  moment,  just  as  you 
did.  And  then  —  the  way  you  talk  !  You  couldn't 
be  more  angry  if  I'd  run  away  with  the  girl. 
Besides  —  she  can't  abide  me.  I  only  did  it  to 
tease  her,  and  she  didn't  like  it  a  bit  —  upon  my 
word,  you're  making  a  crime  out  of  the  merest 
chaff.  It's  not  like  you  to  be  so  unreasonable." 

He  stopped  in  his  walk  and  stood  opposite  to 
her,  near  the  chair  in  which  she  had  sat. 

"I'm  not  unreasonable,"  she  answered.  "And 
you  know  I'm  not.  You  know  what  you  meant  —  " 

"  I  meant  nothing ! "  cried  Crowdie,  with  sudden 
energy.  "  You've  got  an  absolutely  wrong  idea  of 
the  whole  thing  from  beginning  to  end.  You  began 
by  saying  that  I  stared  at  her  last  winter,  when  I 
was  painting  her.  Of  course  I  did.  Do  you 
expect  me  to  turn  my  back  on  my  sitter,  and  im 
agine  a  face  I  can't  see  ?  It's  perfectly  absurd.  I 


THE  RALSTONS.  235 

looked  at  her,  and  stared  at  her,  just  as  you've 
seen  me  stare  at  Mrs.  Brett,  who's  young  and 
quite  as  handsome  as  your  cousin,  and  at  Mrs. 
Trehearne,  who's  old  and  hideous.  You're  out  of 
your  mind,  I  tell  you !  You're  ill,  or  something ! 
How  in  the  world  am  I  to  paint  people  if  I  don't 
look  at  them  ?  As  for  having  sung  the  other 
night,  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  aunt  Maggie's 
fault,  and  Katharine  told  me  not  to,  when  she 
heard  I'd  made  a  promise  —  " 

"  I  know  —  the  little  snake  !  "  exclaimed  Hester. 
"She  knew  well  enough  that  was  the  best  way  —  " 

"  She  didn't  know  anything  of  the  kind.  She 
spoke  perfectly  naturally,  and  merely  didn't  want 
me  to  displease  you  —  " 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ? "  asked  Hester, 
fiercely.  "It  wasn't  to  delight  poor  dear  old 
mamma,  nor  to  charm  four  or  five  men,  most  of 
whom  you  hate  —  was  it  ?  Then  it  was  for  Kath 
arine,  and  for  no  one  else  — " 

"It  was  not  for  Katharine,"  answered  Crowdie, 
with  emphasis.  "  It  wasn't  for  any  one  of  them. 
I  sang  to  please  myself,  because  I  didn't  choose 
to  have  them  laugh  at  me,  as  though  I  were  a  boy 
out  of  school  —  " 

"You  mean  that  you  didn't  choose  to  let  them 
think  that  you  cared  enough  for  me  to  give  such  a 
promise  —  to  keep  your  voice  for  me,  instead  of 
singing  about  in  other  people's  houses  like  a  mere 


236  THE  RALSTONS. 

amateur,  who  pays  for  his  supper  with  a  song. 
You  were  afraid  they'd  laugh  at  you  if  you  said 
you  cared  for  me,  and  for  what  I'd  asked  of  you 
—  and  you  were  really  afraid,  because  you  didn't 
really  care.  Oh,  I  know  now  —  T  see  it  all,  and  I 
know  !  You  can't  deceive  me  any  longer." 

"I  tell  you,  you're  utterly  and  entirely  mis 
taken!"  cried  Crowdie,  angrily.  "You're  making 
a  mountain  out  of  a  mole  hill.  You're  losing  your 
temper  over  it,  and  working  yourself  into  a  passion, 
till  you  don't  know  what's  true  and  what  isn't. 
It's  madness  in  you,  and  it  isn't  fair  to  me.  When 
have  I  ever  looked  at  another  woman  —  " 

"It  had  to  begin  some  time  —  so  it's  begun  now 
—  in  the  worst  way  it  could  begin,  with  Katharine 
Lauderdale ! " 

"I  hate  Katharine  Lauderdale  —  her  and  the 
sound  of  her  name !  How  often  must  I  say  it 
before  you'll  believe  me  ?  " 

"Oh  —  saying  it  won't  make  it  true!  Do  you 
think  I  didn't  see  your  face  —  just  now  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  thought  you  saw  —  but 
I  know  what  there  was  to  be  seen,  and  if  you 
weren't  beside  yourself  with  jealousy  you  wouldn't 
have  thought  twice  about  it.  I  never  knew  what 
jealousy  meant  before  —  " 

"  And  you  don't  now.  I'm  not  jealous  of  her  — I 
hate  her.  I  despise  her  for  trying  to  steal  you  from 
me,  but  since  she's  got  you  —  since  you  love  her 


THE  EALSTONS.  237 

so  that  you'll  lie  for  her,  and  be  a  coward  for  her, 
and  be  angry  for  her  —  just  as  i|;  suits  you  —  oh 
no,  indeed  !  I'm  not  jealous  of  Katharine.  That's 
quite  another  thing.  Jealous  !  And  you  reproach 
me,  and  cast  it  in  my  teeth,  because  I  say  I  hate 
her,  when  she's  taken  everything  I  cared  for  in 
this  earth,  everything  I  had !  Ah  —  I  could  kill 
her !  But  I'm  not  jealous.  One  must  care  for 
oneself  to  be  jealous;  one  must  be  wounded,  hurt, 
insulted,  to  be  jealous !  Do  you  think  I  want  you, 
if  you  don't  want  me  ?  How  little  you've  ever 
understood  me ! " 

She  drew  herself  up,  leaning  back  against  the 
shelf  of  the  mantelpiece,  and  her  lips  curled  scorn 
fully,  though  they  trembled  a  little,  and  she  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  his  face  with  a  strange,  frightened 
fierceness,  like  that  of  a  delicate  wild  animal 
driven  to  bay,  but  determined  to  resist.  Crowdie 
met  her  glance  steadily  now,  leaning  with  both 
hands  upon  the  back  of  the  chair  between  them 
and  bending  his  body  a  little,  in  the  attitude  of  a 
man  who  means  to  speak  very  earnestly. 

"I  don't  think  any  one  could  understand  you 
now,"  he  began,  in  a  quiet,  but  determined  tone. 
"  I  can't,  I  confess.  But  I  know  you're  not  your 
self,  and  you  don't  know  what  you're  saying.  Pm 
not  going  to  argue  as  to  whether  you're  jealous  of 
Katharine  Lauderdale,  or  not.  It's  too  absurd ! 
You've  no  right  to  be,  at  all  events  —  " 


238  THE  EALSTONS. 

"  No  right !  "  cried  Hester,  with  a  half  hysterical 
laugh.  "  If  ever  a  woman  had  a  right  to  be  jeal 
ous  of  another  —  " 

"No,  you've  not  —  not  the  shadow  of  a  right. 
You  know  how  I've  loved  you  for  years  —  well  — 
you  know  how,  and  what  sort  of  love  there's  been 
between  us.  You're  niad  to  think  that  anything 
I've  done  —  " 

"  That's  all  your  argument  —  that  I'm  mad ! 
You  say  it  again  and  again,  as  though  it  com 
forted  you !  Yes  —  I  am  mad  in  one  way  —  I'm 
mad  not  to  hate  you  ten  thousand  times  more  than 
I  do  —  and  I  do  hate  you  —  for  what  you've  done ! 
You've  torn  up  my  heart  by  the  roots  and  thrown 
it  to  that  wretched  girl — you've  twisted,  and 
wrenched,  and  broken  everything  that  was  tender 
in  me,  everything  that  was  for  you,  and  was  yours 
—  and  it  won't  grow  again  !  You've  taken  every 
thing —  have  I  ever  refused  you  anything? 
You've  taken  it  all,  and  I  thought  that  you'd 
never  had  it  before,  and  that  for  its  sake  you  loved 
me,  because  I  loved  you  so — that  you'd  wear  me 
hi  your  heart,  and  carry  me  in  your  hands,  and 
love  me  all  your  life — and  for  that  girl,  that 
creature  with  her  grey  eyes  —  oh,  what  is  it  ? 
What  has  she  got  that  I  haven't,  and  that  makes 
you  love  her  —  what  ?  What  ?  " 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  a  desperate  gesture, 
and  her  voice  almost  broke  as  she  repeated  the 


THE  RALSTONS.  239 

last  word.  Below  her  hand  her  lips  trembled, 
and  Crowdie  watched  them.  Then  before  she 
looked  at  him  again,  he  had  passed  the  chair  and 
was  trying  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  For  an  instant 
she  struggled  with  him,  holding  her  face  back 
from  him  and  thrusting  him  away.  But  his  small 
white  hands  had  more  strength  in  them  than  hers. 

"  Walter  —  don't !  "  she  cried,  pushing  against 
him  with  all  her  might.  "  Don't !  Don't !  "  she 
repeated. 

But  in  spite  of  her,  he  got  near  to  her  face,  and 
kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  She  started  violently, 
and  then  wrenched  herself  free. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  angrily,  re 
treating  half  across  the  room  with  the  rush  of 
the  effort  she  had  made. 

Crowdie  laughed,  not  naturally,  and  not  at  all 
musically.  There  was  a  curious  hoarseness  in 
the  tone,  apd  his  eyes  glittered. 

"  And  how  dare  you  laugh  at  me  ?  "  she  asked, 
moving  still  further  back,  towards  the  door,  as  he 
advanced.  "Have  you  no  heart,  no  feeling  —  no 
sense  ?  Can't  you  understand  how  it  hurts  when 
you  touch  me  ?  " 

"I  don't  want  to  understand  anything  so 
foolish,"  answered  Crowdie,  suddenly  growing 
coldly  angry  again.  "If  you're  afraid  of  me  — 
well,  I  won't  go  near  you  until  you  see  how  silly 
you  are.  There's  no  other  word  —  it's  silly." 


240  THE  RALSTONS. 

" Silly!  When  it's  all  my  life."  Her  voice 
shook.  "Oh,  Walter,  Walter!  You're  breaking 
my  heart ! " 

A  passionate  sob  struggled  with  the  words,  and 
she  fell  into  a  chair  by  the  door,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands  again.  Then  came  another  sob, 
and  the  convulsion  of  her  strength  as  she  tried 
to  choke  it  down,  and  it  broke  the  barrier  and 
burst  out  with  a  wild  storm  of  scalding  tears. 

Crowdie  was  a  very  sensitively  organized  man 
in  one  direction,  but  singularly  hard  to  move  in 
another.  So  long  as  the  passions  of  others 
appealed  to  his  own,  the  response  was  ready  and 
impulsive.  But  in  him  mere  sympathy  was  not 
easily  roused.  Once  freed  from  self,  his  faculties 
were  critical,  comparative,  quick  to  seek  causes 
and  explain  their  connection  with  effects.  Hester's 
words  wakened  his  love,  roused  his  anger,  called 
out  his  powers  of  opposition,  and  touched  him  to 
the  quick  by  turns ;  but  her  tears  said  nothing 
to  him  at  first,  except  that  she  was  suffering. 
He  was  only  with  her  in  happiness,  never  in  un- 
happiness.  He  stood  still  for  a  moment  watching 
her,  and  asking  himself  with  considerable  calmness 
what  was  best  to  be  done. 

It  is  not  always  easy  to  judge  and  decide  exactly 
how  far  a  woman  could  control  herself  if  she 
thought  it  wise  to  do  so,  and  for  that  reason  the 
genuineness  of  her  tears  often  seems  doubtful. 


THE  BALSTONS.  241 

It  would  be  as  fair  to  doubt  that  a  tortured  man 
suffers  if  he  does  not  groan  in  his  agony,  or  because 
he  does. 

But  although  at  that  moment  he  felt  no  sym 
pathy  with  her,  though  he  loved  her  in  his  own 
way,  yet  his  instinct  and  experience  of  women 
told  him  that  with  the  tears  there  must  come  a 
change  of  mood.  He  went  slowly  to  her  side,  and 
though  she  did  not  look  up  he  knew  that  she  felt 
his  presence,  and  would  not  drive  him  from  her 
again  just  then.  He  bent  over  her,  laying  his  arm 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  looking  at  the  hands  that 
covered  her  eyes.  He  did  not  speak  at  once,  but 
waited  for  her  to  look  up.  She  was  sobbing  as 
though  her  heart  would  realty  break.  At  last, 
between  the  sobs,  words  began  to  come  at  last. 

"  Oh,  Walter,  Walter ! "  she  wailed,  repeating 
his  name. 

"Yes  —  sweetheart  —  look  at  me,  dear,"  he  an 
swered,  pressing  her  to  him. 

Her  head  rested  against  him  as  she  sobbed. 
Then  one  hand  left  her  eyes  and  sought  his  hand, 
but  was  instantly  withdrawn  again.  He  found  it 
and  brought  it,  resisting  but  a  little,  to  his  lips. 
In  all  such  actions  he  had  the  gentleness,  almost 
boyish,  which  some  women  love  so  well,  and 
which  is  so  kingly  in  the  very  strong  —  for  they 
say  that  it  is  sweeter  to  be  caressed  by  the  hand 
that  could  kill,  than  by  one  that  at  its  worst  and 
strongest  could  only  scratch. 

VOL.    II.  —  16 


242  THE  E ALSTONS. 

Presently  she  uncovered  her  eyes  and  looked  up 
to  his  face,  and  the  sobbing  almost  stopped.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed  through  their  whiteness  and 
were  wet,  and  her  eyes  were  dark  and  shadowy,  but 
the  light  in  them  was  not  hard.  The  tide  of  anger 
had  ebbed  as  the  tears  flowed,  and  its  wave  was 
far  off. 

"Tell  me  you  really  love  me,  dear,"  she  said, 
still  tearfully. 

"  Ah,  sweet !  You  know  I  do  —  I  love  you  —  so  ! 
Is  that  right  ?  Doesn't  it  ring  true  now  ?  "  He 
laughed  softly,  looking  into  her  face.  "  When  did 
I  ever  sing  false  ?  " 

A  shade  of  returning  annoyance  passed  over 
her  features,  as  her.  brow  contracted  at  the  allusion 
to  his  singing,  and  though  she  still  allowed  her 
head  to  rest  against  his  side,  her  face  was  turned 
away  once  more. 

"Don't  speak  of  singing,  dear,"  she  said,  trying 
to  smile,  though  he  could  not  see  whether  she  did 
or  not. 

"No,  darling — forgive  me.  I'll  never  speak  of 
it  again.  I'll  never  sing  again  as  long  as  I  live,  if 
you  don't  want  me  to." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  answered.  "  It's  only 
now  —  till  I  forget.  And,  Walter,  dear  —  I  don't 
want  you  to  promise  it  any  more  —  I'd  rather  not, 
really." 

Still  she  turned  away,  but  he  bent  over,  drawing 


THE  EALSTONS.  ,          243 

her  closer  to  him,  and  he  lifted  her  face  with  his 
hand  under  her  chin.  The  eyelids  drooped  as  she 
suffered  her  head  to  fall  back  over  his  arm,  and 
she  shut  out  the  sight  of  his  eyes  from  her  own. 
He  murmured  soft  words  in  his  low  voice,  in 
golden  tones. 

"  Darling  —  precious  — sweet  one  ! " 
And  he  repeated  the  words  and  others,  as  her 
features  softened,  and  her  parted  lips  smiled  at  his. 
And  still  he  pressed  her  to  him,  and  spoke  to  her, 
and  looked  at  her  with  burning  eyes.  So  they 
might  have  been  reconciled  then  and  there,  had 
Fate  willed  it.  But  Fate  was  there  with  her 
little  creeping  hand  full  of  the  tiny  mischief  that 
decides  between  life  and  death  when  no  one  knows. 
Fate  willed  that  at  that  moment  Crowdie  should 
be  irritated  by  something  in  his  throat.  Just  as 
he  was  speaking  so  softly,  so  sweetly  that  the 
exquisite  sound  almost  lulled  her  to  sleep,  while 
the  passionate  tears  still  wet  her  cheek,  —  just  as 
his  face  was  near  hers,  he  felt  it  coming,  insignifi 
cant  in  itself,  ridiculous  by  reason  of  the  moment 
at  which  it  came,  yet  irresistible  in  its  littleness. 
He  struggled  against  it,  and  grew  conscious  of 
what  he  was  saying,  and  his  voice  lost  its  passion 
ate  tenderness.  He  strove  to  fight  it  down,  that 
horrible  little  tickling  spasm  just  in  the  vocal 
chords,  for  he  knew  how  much  it  might  mean  both 
to  her  and  to  him,  that  her  forgiving  mood  should 


244  THE  RALSTONS. 

carry  them  both  to  the  kiss  of  peace.  But  Fate 
was  there,  irresistible  and  little,  as  surely  as  though 
she  had  stalked  gigantic,  sword  in  hand,  through 
the  door,  to  smite  them  both.  In  the  midst  of 
the  very  sweetest  word  of  all,  it  came  —  the  word 
rang  false,  he  turned  his  face  away  and  coughed  to 
clear  his  throat.  But  the  false  note  had  rung. 

Hester  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  thrust  him  from 
her.  To  her  it  had  all  been  false,  —  the  words,  the 
tone,  the  caresses.  How  could  a  man  in  the 
earnestness  of  passion,  midway  in  love's  eloquence, 
wish  to  stop  —  and  cough  ?  She  did  not  think 
nor.  reason,  as  she  turned  upon  him  in  the  anguish 
of  her  disappointment. 

"How  could  I  believe  you  —  even  for  a  mo 
ment  ?  "  she  cried,  standing  back  from  him.  "  Oh, 
what  an  actor  you  are  ! " 

But  he  had  not  been  acting,  save  that  he  had 
done  what  his  instinct  had  at  first  told  him  was 
wisest,  in  beginning  to  speak  to  her  when  she  had 
burst  into  tears.  With  the  first  word,  the  first 
caress,  with  the  touch  of  her,  and  the  sweet, 
unscented,  living  air  of  her,  the  passion  that  had 
truly  ruled  his  faultful  life  for  years  took  hold  of 
him  with  strength  and  main,  and  rang  the  leading 
changes  of  his  being.  And  then  she  broke  it 
short. 

As  he  stood  up  before  her,  he  shook  with  emo 
tion  stronger  than  hers,  such  as  women  rarely  feel, 


THE  RALSTONS.  245 

and  such  as  even  strong  men  dread.  Unconsciously 
he  held  out  his  hands  towards  her  and  uttered  a  half 
articulate  cry,  trying  once  more  to  catch  her  in 
his  arms. 

"  Kiss  me  —  love  me  —  oh,  Hester  ! " 

But  he  met  her  angry  eyes,  for  she  had  lost  the 
hand  of  reality  in  the  labyrinth  of  her  own  imag 
inings  and  disappointments  and  jealousies,  and  she 
knew  no  longer  the  good  from  the  evil,  nor  the 
truth  from  the  acted  lie. 

"No  —  you're  acting,"  she  answered,  cruelly  — 
trying  to  be  as  cruel  as  the  hurt  she  felt. 

And  she  stared  hardly  at  him.  But  even,  as 
she  looked,  a  deep,  purple  flush  rose  in  his  white 
cheeks,  and  overspread  his  face,  even  to  his  fore 
head,  and  darkened  all  his  features.  And  his  eyes 
turned  upwards  in  their  sockets,  as  he  fell  forward 
against  her,  with  wet,  twisted  lips  and  limp  limbs 
—  a  hideous  sight  for  woman  or  man  to  look  upon. 

She  uttered  a  low,  broken  cry  as  she  caught  him 
in  her  arms,  and  he  dragged  her  down  to  the  floor 
by  his  weight.  There  he  lay,  almost  black  in  the 
face,  contorted  and  stiffened,  yet  not  quite  motion 
less,  but  far  more  repulsive  by  the  spasmodic  and 
writhing  motion  of  his  body  than  if  he  had  lain 
stiff  and  stark  as  a  dead  body. 

She  had  seen  him  thus  once  before  now,  on  a 
winter's  night,  upstairs  in  the  studio.  She  did  not 
know  that  it  was  epilepsy.  She  knelt  beside  him, 


246  THE  EALSTONS. 

horror-struck,  now,  for  a  few  moments.  It  seemed 
worse  in  the  evening  glow  than  it  had  looked  to 
her  before,  under  the  soft,  artificial  light  in  the 
great  room. 

She  only  hesitated  a  few  seconds.  Then  she  got 
a  cushion  and  thrust  it  under  his  head,  using  all 
her  strength  to  lift  him  a  little  with  one  arm  as 
she  did  so.  But  she  knew  by  experience  that  the 
unconsciousness  would  last  a  long  time,  and  she 
was  glad  that  it  had  come  at  once.  On  the  first 
occasion  the  convulsion  that  preceded  it  had  been 
horrible.  Her  own  face  was  drawn  with  the  an 
guish  of  intense  sympathy,  and  she  felt  all  the 
horror  of  her  last  cruel  words  still  ringing  in 
her  ears. 

She  did  not  rise  from  her  knees,  but  bent  over 
him,  and  looked  at  him,  seeing  himself,  as  she 
dreamed  him,  through  the  mask  of  his  hideous 
face.  She  touched  his  hands,  and  tried  to  draw 
them  out  of  their  contortion,  but  the  inturned 
thumbs  and  stiffened  joints  were  too  rigid  for  her 
to  move.  But  she  lifted  his  body  again,  straining 
her  strength  till  she  thought  his  weight  must  tear 
the  slight  sinews  of  her  arms  at  the  elbow,  and 
she  tried  to  turn  his  head  to  a  comfortable  position 
on  the  silken  pillow,  and  stroked  his  silk-fine  hair 
with  gentle  hands.  As  she  did  her  best  for  him, 
her  throat  was  parched,  and  she  felt  her  dry  lips 
cleaving  to  her  teeth,  and  the  sight  of  her  eyes  was 


THE  R ALSTONS.  '247 

almost  failing,  being  burned  out  with  horror.     But 
no  tears  canie  to  put  out  the  fire. 

At  last  she  rose  to  her  feet,  steadying  herself 
against  the  chair  in  which  she  had  last  sat,  for  slie 
was  dizzy  with  pain  and  with  bending  down.  She 
gazed  at  him  an  instant ;  then  turned  and  went 
and  closed  the  open  windows,  and  pulled  down 
the  shades  and  drew  the  thick  curtains  together. 
After  that,  groping,  she  found  matches  and  lit 
one  candle,  and  set  it  so  that  the  light  should 
not  fall  upon  his  eyes,  if  by  any  chance  their 
conscious  sight  returned.  Then  she  looked  at  him 
once  more  and  left  the  room,  softly  closing  the 
door  behind  her,  and  turning  the  key  with  infinite 
pains,  lest  any  servant  in  the  house  should  hear 
the  sound.  She  took  the  key  with  her  and  went 
upstairs. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

KATHARINE  was  sincerely  distressed  by  the  re 
sult  of  her  interview  with  Hester,  and  she  walked 
slowly  homeward,  thinking  it  all  over  and  asking 
herself  whether  she  had  left  undone  anything 
which  she  ought  to  have  done.  But  as  she  thought, 
it  was  always  the  last  scene  which  rose  before  her 
eyes,  and  she  saw  distinctly  before  her  Hester's 
white  face  staring  at  her  through  the  open  door 
way.  There  was  a  great  satisfaction  in  feeling 
sure  that  she  had  been  wholly  innocent  in  the 
matter  of  Crowdie's  'kissing  her  hand;  yet  felt 
that  the  resentment  Hester  had  shown  on  re-enter 
ing  the  room  had  not  been  anything  different  in  its 
essential  nature  from  the  coldness  she  had  already 
shown  when  Katharine  had  spoken  of  renewing 
their  friendship.  But  the  young  girl  could  not 
understand  either,  though  the  supposition  that 
Hester  must  be  jealous  of  her  thrust  itself  upon 
her  forcibly. 

Ralston  helped  her.     He  had  asked  for  her  at 

the  house  in  Clinton  Place,  and  having  been  told 

that   she  was .  still   out,  he   had  hung   about  the 

neighbourhood  in  the  hope  of   meeting  her,  and 

248 


THE  RALSTONS.  249 

had  been  at  last  rewarded  by  seeing  her  coming 
towards  him  from  the  other  side  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
In  a  moment  they  met. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Jack,  dear ! "  she 
cried  as  she  took  his  hand.  "  I've  got  such  lots  to 
tell  you!" 

"  So  have  I,"  answered  Kalston.  "  Where  shall 
we  go  ?  Should  you  like  to  walk  ?  " 

« Yes  —  in  some  quiet  place,  where  we  can  talk, 
and  not  meet  people,  and  not  be  run  over  too 
often." 

"  All  right,"  answered  John.  "  Let's  go  west. 
There  are  lots  of  quiet  streets  on  that  side,  and  it's 
awfully  respectable.  The  worst  that  can  happen 
to  us  will  be  to  meet  Teddy  Van  De  Water  looking 
after  his  tenants,  or  Russell  Vanbrugh  going  to 
administer  consolation  to  the  relations  of  his 
favourite  criminal.  Something's  happened,  Kath 
arine,"  he  added  suddenly,  as  they  turned  west 
ward,  and  the  strong  evening  light  illuminated  her 
features  through  her  veil.  "  I  can  see  it  in  your 
face." 

"Yes,"  answered  Katharine.  "I  want  to  tell 
you.  I've  had  such  a  time  with  Hester!  You 
don't  know ! " 

"Tell  me  all  about  it." 

They  walked  along,  and  Katharine  told  her  story 
with  all  the  details  she  could  remember,  doing  her 
best  to  make  clear  to  him  what  was  by  no  means 


250  THE  EALSTONS. 

clear  to  herself.  When  she  had  finished,  she 
looked  at  John  interrogatively. 

"  That  fellow  Crowdie's  a  brute  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
with  energy. 

"  Well  —  I  don't  like  him,  you  know.  But 
was  it  so  very  bad?  Tell  me,  Jack — you're  my 
natural  protector."  She  laughed  happily.  "It's 
your  business  to  tell  me  what's  right  and  what's 
wrong.  Was  it  so  very  bad  of  him  to  kiss  my 
glove  after  he'd  buttoned  it  ?  I  almost  boxed  his 
ears  at  the  time  —  I  was  so  angry  !  But  I  want  to 
be  fair.  Was  it  exactly — wrong?  I  wish  you'd 
tell  me." 

"  Wrong  ?  No  ;  it  wasn't  exactly  wrong."  Eals- 
ton  paused  thoughtfully.  "  Kissing  women's  hands 
is  one  of  those  relative  things,"  he  continued. 
"  It's  right  in  one  part  of  the  world,  it's  indifferent 
in  another,  and  it's  positively  the  wrong  thing  to 
do  somewhere  else  —  whatever  it's  meant  to  mean. 
We  don't  do  .that  sort  of  thing  much  over  here. 
As  he  did  it,  I  suppose  it  was  simply  the  wrong 
thing  to  do.  At  least,  I  want  to  suppose  so,  but  I 
can't.  The  man's  half  in  love  with  you,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Jack!  It's  only  because  we 
dislike  him  so.  If  ever  a  man  was  in  love  with 
his  wife,  he  is." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Ralston,  in  the  same 
thoughtful  tone.  "That's  quite  true.  But  it 


THE  R ALSTONS.  251 

doesn't  prevent  him  from  being  half  in  love  with 
lots  of  other  women  at  the  same  time.  It's  not 
the  same  thing.  Oh,  yes  !  he  loves  Hester.  She's 
quite  mad  about  him,  of  course.  We  all  know 
that,  in  the  family.  But  Crowdie's  peculiar — and 
it's  not  a  nice  peculiarity,  either.  One  sees  it  in 
his  manner  somehow,  and  in  his  eyes.  I  can't 
exactly  explain  it  to  you.  He  admires  every 
woman  who's  beautiful,  and  it's  a  little  more  than 
admiration.  He  has  a  way  with  him  which  we 
men  don't  like.  And  when  he  does  such  things  as 
he  did  to-day  there's  always  a  suggestion  of  some 
thing  disagreeable  in  his  way  of  doing  them,  so 
that  if  they're  not  positively  wrong,  they're  not 
positively  innocent.  They're  on  the  ragged  edge 
between  the  two,  as  Frank  Miner  says." 

"  I  think  it's  more  in  the  way  he  looks  at  one 
than  in  anything  else,"  said  Katharine.  "  He  has 
such  a  horrid  mouth  !  But  it's  absurd  to  say  that 
he's  in  love  with  me,  Jack." 

"  Oh,  no,  it's  not !  That  night  at  aunt  Maggie's, 
when  he  sang,  you  know  —  it  was  for  you  and 
nobody  else.  What  a  queer  evening  that  was,  by 
the  way !  There  were  five  of  us  men  there,  all  in 
love  with  you  in  one  way  or  another." 

"  Jack !  It's  positively  ridiculous !  The  idea 
of  such  a  thing!" 

"  Not  at  all.  There  was  Ham,  in  the  first  place. 
You  admit  that  he's  one,  don't  you  ?  " 


252  THE  EALSTONS. 

"  I  suppose  I  must,  since  he  proposed/'  answered 
Katharine,  reluctantly,  and  turning  her  face  away. 

"And  you're  not  going  to  deny  Archie  Wing- 
field?"  Ralston  tried  to  see  her  eyes.  "I'm  sure 
he's  offered  himself." 

Katharine  said  nothing,  but  John  saw  through 
her  veil  and  was  sure  that  a  little  colour  rose  in 
her  face. 

"Of  course!"  he  said.  "That's  two  of  them. 
And  Crowdie's  three.  I  count  him.  And  you 
mustn't  forget  me.  I'm  what  they  call  in  love 
with  you,  I  suppose.  That's  four." 

Katharine  smiled,  and  glanced  at  him,  looking 
away  again  immediately. 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "you'll  leave  me  dear  old 
Mr.  Griggs  — " 

"Griggs!"  laughed  Ealston.  "He's  the  worst 
of  the  lot.  He's  madly,  fearfully,  desperately, 
fantastically  in  love  with  you." 

"  Jack !  What  do  you  meau  ?  "  Katharine 
laughed,  but  her  face  expressed  genuine  surprise. 
"  Not  that  I  should  mind,"  she  added.  "  Dear  old 
man !  I'm  so  fond  of  him  ! " 

"  Well  —  he  returns  your  fondness  with  interest. 
He  makes  no  secret  of  it  to  anybody,  because  he's 
old,  or  says  he  is, — but  he's  old  like  an  old  wolf. 
I  like  him,  too.  He  goes  about  saying  that  you're 
his  ideal  of  beauty  and  cleverness  and  soul  —  and 
good  taste.  Oh,  Griggs ! "  He  laughed  again. 


THE  RALSTONS.  253 

"  He's  quite  off  his  head  about  you !  He'll  put 
you  into  one  of  his  books  if  you're  not  careful. 
I  should  like  to  see  your  father's  expression  if 
he  did." 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Jack  ! "  suggested  Katharine, 
by  way  of  good  advice.  "  Of  course,  I  understand 
what  a  dear  old  silly  idiot  you  are,  you  know. 
But  don't  talk  such  nonsense  to  other  people. 
They'll  laugh  at  you." 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to.  I  let  Griggs  do  the 
talking,  and  people  laugh  at  him.  But  there's 
nothing  silly  in  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  Everybody 
loves  you  —  except  some  of  the  people  who  should. 
And  I  must  say,  with  the  exception  of  Crowdie, 
we  were  a  very  presentable  lot  the  other  night. 
And  even  Crowdie  —  well,  he's  a  celebrity,  if  he's 
nothing  else,  and  that  counts  for  something  with 
some  women.  I  say,  Katharine  —  are  you  and 
Hester  going  to  quarrel  for  the  rest  of  your 
lives  ?  " 

"I'm  afraid  so,  —  at  least,  we  shan't  quarrel 
exactly.  But  we  can  never  be  just  as  we  were." 

"  I'm  rather  glad,"  said  Kalston.  "  I  never  be 
lieved  much  in  that  friendship  between  you  two." 

"  Oh,  Jack !  We  loved  each  other  so  dearly ! 
And  it  was  so  nice  —  we  told  each  other  every 
thing,  you  know." 

"  Yes  —  but  you've  outgrown  each  other." 

Katharine  looked  at  him  quickly,  in  surprise. 


254  THE  R ALSTONS. 

"That's  exactly  what  Hester  said  to-day,"  she 
answered.  "  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  such  nonsense." 

"  Well  —  you  have,  and  she's  quite  right  if  she 
says  so.  That  sort  of  school-girlish  friendship 
doesn't  amount  to  anything  when  you  begin  to 
grow  up.  I've  seen  lots  of  them  in  society.  They 
always  break  up  as  soon  as  one  of  the  two  marries 
and%  has  other  things  to  think  about.  Besides, 
between  you  and  Hester,  there's  Crowdie.  It's 
perfectly  clear  from  what  you've  told  me  that 
she's  jealous.  If  you're  not  careful  she'll  try 
and  do  you  some  mischief  or  other.  She's  jeal 
ous,  and  she  has  a  streak  of  cruelty  in  her.  She'll 
make  you  suffer  somehow  —  trust  the  ingenuity  of 
a  woman  like  that !  She'd  burn  her  most  intimate 
friend  at  a  slow  fire  for  Crowdie  any  day." 

"Well  —  isn't  she  right?"  asked  Katharine. 
"I  would,  for  you,  I'm  sure — if  it  would  do  you 
any  good." 

"  It  wouldn't,"  laughed  Ralston.  "  Those  cases 
don't  arise  nowadays.  Sometimes  one  wishes  they 
might.  We've  all  got  a  lot  of  cruelty  and  romance 
in  us  somewhere.  We  all  believe  in  the  immuta 
bility  of  the  affections,  more  or  less." 

"  Don't  laugh,  Jack  !  "  said  Katharine.  "  Love 
has  nothing  to  do  with  friendship.  Besides,  you 
and  I  aren't  like  other  people.  We're  always 
going  to  care  —  just  as  we  always  have.  We're 
faithful  people,  you  and  I." 


:RSH  i  r 

\ 

R  ALSTONS. 


"  Yes.  I  think  we  are."  He  spoke  quietly,  as 
though  from  a  long  and  familiar  conviction. 

A  short  silence  followed,  and  they  walked  along 
side  by  side  in  the  soft  evening  air,  so  close  that 
their  elbows  touched,  as  they  kept  step  together 
—  a  mode  of  courtship  not  usually  practised  by 
their  kind,  and  which  they  would  have  been 
ashamed  of  in  a  more  frequented  quarter  of  the 
city.  They  would  probably  have  noticed  it  unfa 
vourably  in  another  couple,  and  would  have  set 
the  pair  down  as  a  dry-goods  clerk  and  a  shop 
girl.  But  when  the  '  stiff  and  proud '  Four  Hun 
dred  are  very  much  in  love,  and  when  they  are 
quite  sure  that  none  of  the  remaining  Three  Hun 
dred  and  Ninety-eight  are  looking,  they  behave  pre 
cisely  like  human  beings,  which  is  really  to  their 
credit,  though  they  would  be  so  much  ashamed 
to  have  it  generally  known. 

"But  then,  we're  married,  you  know,"  said 
Katharine,  as  though  she  had  solved  a  difficult 
problem. 

Ralston  glanced  at  the  face  he  loved  and  smiled 
happily. 

"There's  a  good  deal  besides  that,"  he  said. 
"  There  are  a  great  many  things  that  tie  us 
together.  You've  made  a  man  of  me.  That's 
one  thing.  But  for  you,  I  don't  know  where  I 
should  have  been  now  —  in  a  bad  way,  I  fancy." 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  protested  Katharine.     "A 


256  THE  RALSTONS. 

man  who  can  do  the  things  you've  done  doesn't 
come  to  grief." 

"It  isn't  anything  I've  done,"  Ralston  answered. 
"It's  what  you've  made  me  feel.  If  I've  done 
anything  at  all,  it's  been  for  your  sake.  You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  And  if  there  were 
big  things  to  be  done,  it  would  be  the  same." 

"You've  done  the  biggest  thing  that  any  man 
can  do.  You  don't  need  to  have  me  tell  you  that." 

"  Oh  —  about  reforming  my  ways,  you  mean  ?  " 
He  affected  to  laugh.  "That  wasn't  anything. 
You  made  it  nice  and  easy." 

"Especially  when  I  didn't  believe  in  you,  and 
treated  you  like  a  brute,"  said  Katharine,  with 
an  expression  of  pain  at  the  recollection.  "  Don't 
talk  about  it,  Jack.  I've  never  forgiven  myself  — 
I  never  shall." 

"  But  it  was  so  nice  when  it  was  over ! "  This 
time  the  little  laugh  was  genuine.  "I'd  go  through 
it  all  again,  just  to  see  your  face  when  you  found 
out  that  you'd  been  mistaken — and  afterwards, 
when  we  sat  behind  the  piano  at  the  Van  De 
Waters'  —  do  you  remember  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I'd  like 
to  have  it  all  over  again." 

"Jack  —  you're  an  angel,  dear!  But  don't  talk 
about  that  night.  I  suppose,  though,  that  those 
things  have  helped  to  bind  us  together  and  make 
us  more  each  other's.  Yes  —  of  course  they  have. 
And  then  —  we're  such  good  friends,  you  know. 


THE  RALSTONS.  257 

Doesn't  that  make  a  difference  ?  I'm  sure  there 
are  people  who  care  very  much,  but  who  are  never 
good  friends.  Look  at  papa  and  my  mother. 
They're  like  that.  They're  not  at  all  good 
friends.  They  never  tell  each  other  anything  if 
they  can  help  it.  But  they  care  all  the  same. 
We  could  never  be  like  that  together,  could 
we?  Jack  —  where  does  friendship  end  and  love 
begin?" 

"  What  a  beautiful  question ! "  exclaimed  Kals- 
ton,  very  much  amused.  "Of  all  the  impossible 
ones  to  answer ! " 

"I  know  it  is.  I've  often  wondered  about  it. 
You  know,  I  can't  at  all  remember  when  I  began 
to  care  for  you  in  this  way.  Can  you  ?  It  must 
have  been  ever  so  long  ago,  before  we  ever  said 
anything  —  because,  when  we  did,  it  seemed  quite 
natural,  you  know.  And  it  always  grows.  It 
goes  on  growing  like  a  thing  that's  planted  in 
good  earth  and  that  has  lots  of  life  in  it  and  is 
going  to  last  forever.  But  it  really  does  grow. 
I  know  that  I'm  ever  so  much  more  glad  to  see 
you  when  we  meet  now  than  I  was  a  month  ago. 
If  it  goes  on  like  this  I  don't  know  where  it's 
going  to  end.  Hester  and  her  husband  won't  be 
anywhere,  compared  with  us,  will  they  ?  " 

"  They're  not,  as  it  is.  They're  quite  different. 
When  they're  old,  they'll  quarrel  —  if  not  sooner." 

"Oh,  Jack  —  I  don't  Relieve  it's  quite  fair  to 
say  that ! " 

VOL.    II. 17 


258  THE  RALSTONS. 

"  Well  —  wait  and  see.  We're  warranted  to 
wear,  you  and  I.  They're  not.  There's  no  stay 
ing  power  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Not  but  what 
they're  in  earnest.  Even  Crowdie  is,  though  he's 
half  in  love  with  you,  at  the  same  time." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  keep  saying  that,"  said 
Katharine.  "It  makes  me  feel  so  uncomfortable 
when  we  meet.  Besides,  it's  absurd,  as  I  told  you. 
A  man  can't  be  madly  in  love  with  his  wife  and 
care  for  any  one  else  at  the  same  time." 

"That  depends  on  the  man — and  the  way  of 
caring,"  answered  Ralston.  "Crowdie's  a  brute. 
I  hate  him.  The  only  thing  I  can't  understand 
about  Griggs  is  his  liking  for  the  man.  It's 
incomprehensible  to  me." 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Griggs  really  likes  him," 
said  Katharine.  "  There's  a  mystery  about  it. 
But  I'm  almost  sure  he  doesn't  really  like  him.  I 
believe  he  thinks  he's  responsible  for  Crowdie  in 
some  way.  They  knew  each  other  long  ago." 

"Nobody  knows  much  about  Crowdie's  antece 
dents,  anyway.  I  never  could  understand  the 
match." 

"Oh  —  it's  easily  understood.  They  fell  in  love 
with  each  other.  Of  course  he  would  have  been 
delighted  to  marry  her,  if  he  hadn't  cared  a  straw 
for  her,  for  the  sake  of  the  social  position  and  all 
that.  Then  he  had  a  sister — at  least,  people 
said  so,  but  nobody  ever  saw  her  that  I  know  of 


THE  R ALSTONS.  259 

—  somewhere  in  New  Jersey.  She  didn't  come 
to  the  wedding,  I  know,  for  I  was  Hester's  brides 
maid.  Charlotte  and  I  were  the  only  two." 

"  She  didn't  come  to  the  wedding  because  she 
was  dead,"  said  Ralston.  "That's  an  awfully  good 
reason." 

"  I  didn't  know.  I've  often  wondered  about  her, 
but  I  didn't  like  to  ask  questions.  One  doesn't 
you  know,  about  people  who  don't  turn  up.  They 
always  are  dead,  or  something  —  and  then  one  feels 
so  uncomfortable." 

"Yes,"  answered  Ralston,  as  though  meditating 
on  the  fact.  "At  all  events,"  he  continued, 
"  nobody  ever  knew  much  about  Crowdie,  nor  where 
he  came  from.  So  I  don't  exactly  see  how  Griggs 
could  be  responsible  for  him.  But,  as  you  say, 
there's  a  mystery  about  it  all  —  so  there  is  about 
Griggs,  for  that  matter." 

"Oh,  no!  Mr.  Griggs  is  all  right.  There's 
nothing  mysterious  about  him.  He  was  born 
abroad,  that's  all,  and  I  believe  he  was  awfully 
poor  as  a  boy  —  a  sort  of  orphan  lying  about  loose 
on  the  world,  you  know.  But  he's  got  a  lot  of 
tremendously  proper  relations  in  Rhode  Island. 
He  goes  to  see  some  of  them  now  and  then.  He's 
told  me." 

"Well  —  it's  very  queer  about  Crowdie,  any 
how,"  said  Ralston,  thoughtfully.  "But  there's 
something  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about,  dear," 


260  THE  RALSTONS. 

he  continued  after  a  little  pause.  "  It's  about  our 
marriage  certificate.  You  know  we're  living  in 
danger  of  an  explosion  at  any  moment.  That 
thing  is  tucked  away  somewhere  amongst  poor 
uncle  Robert's  papers.  We've  spoken  of  it  once 
or  twice,  you  know.  They're  going  through  every 
thing,  and  sooner  or  later  it's  sure  to  turn  up.  It's 
just  as  well  to  be  prepared  beforehand.  I  don't 
know  what  will  happen  if  we  tell  your  father  now, 
but  he's  got  to  be  told,  and  it's  my  place  to  do  it." 

"No,  Jack,"  answered  Katharine.  "It's  my 
place.  I  made  you  do  it  —  I've  never  made  up 
my  mind  whether  it  was  the  wisest  thing  we 
could  do,  or  whether  it  was  a  piece  of  egregious 
folly.  Suppose  that  we  had  quarrelled  after  it  was 
done.  We  should  have  been  bound  all  our  lives 
by  a  mere  ceremony." 

"But  we  knew  we  shouldn't,"  protested  Ralston. 

"Nobody  knows  anything,"  said  Katharine, 
wisely.  "  We  know  now,  because  we  know  each 
other  so  much  better.  But  I  made  you  take  a 
tremendous  risk,  and  you  didn't  want  to  do  it  at 
all  —  " 

"  It  wasn't  on  account  of  the  risk  —  " 

"No  —  of  course  it  wasn't.  But  you're  quite 
right  now.  That  thing  may  turn  up  any  day.  I 
shall  go  to  papa  this  very  evening  and  tell  him 
that  we're  married.  ,  It's  the  only  sensible  thing 
to  do." 


THE  K ALSTONS.  261 

"  Indeed,  you  shan't  do  that ! "  cried  Ralston, 
anxiously.  "  You  know  him  —  " 

"  Shan't  ?  "  repeated  Katharine,  looking  up  into 
his  face  and  smiling.  "I  will  if  I  please,"  she 
said  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  asked  John,  meeting  her  eyes  with 
an  expression  of  determination,  but  smiling,  too, 
in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Of  course  !  "  answered  Katharine,  promptly. 
"  Especially  as  I  think  it's  a  matter  of  duty.  Of 
course  I'll  do  it — this  very  evening  !  " 

"  Don't ! "  said  Kalston.     "  There'll  be  a  row." 

"Not  half  such  a  row  as  if  you  try  to  do  it," 
observed  Katharine.  "  You'll  have  each  other  by 
the  throat  in  five  minutes." 

"Oh,  no,  we  shan't.  We're  very  good  friends 
now.  I  don't  see  why  there  should  be  any  trouble 
at  all.  He  wants  us  to  marry.  He  said  so  in  his 
letter,  and  he's  taken  a  sort  of  paternal  air  of  late, 
when  I  come  to  the  house.  Besides,  haven't  you 
noticed  the  way  in  which  he  turns  his  back  on  us 
when  we  sit  down  to  talk  ?  If  that  doesn't  mean 
consent  —  well,  he  won't  have  the  trouble  of  a  wed 
ding,  that's  all,  nor  the  expense,  either.  He  ought 
to  be  glad,  if  he's  logical." 

"I  don't  think  he'd  mind  the  expense  so  much 
now,"  said  Katharine,  with  perfect  gravity.  "  I 
think  he's  getting  used  to  the  idea  of  spending  a 
little  more,  now  that  we're  to  be  so  rich.  He  was 


262  THE  RALSTONS.    ' 

talking  about  having  a  butler,  last  night.  Fancy  ! 
But  1  do  wish  those  administrators,  or  whatever 
you  call  them,  would  hurry  up  and  give  us  some 
thing.  We're  awfully  hard  up,  my  mother  and  I. 
We've  had  to  get  such  a  lot  of  clothes,  and  I'm 
frightened  to  death  about  it.  I'm  sure  the  bills 
will  come  in  before  the  estate's  settled,  and  then 
papa  will  take  the  roof  off,  as  you  always  say 

—  he'll  be  so  angry  !     But  I  don't  think  he'll  make 
such  a  fuss  about  our  marriage.'7 

"No  —  that's  just  what  I  say.  That's  why  I 
want  to  tell  him  myself." 

"  Jack ! "  cried  Katharine,  reproachfully.  "  You 
just  said  there'd  be  a  row  if  I  went  to  him  about 
it." 

"  Well  —  I  think  I  can  manage  him  better," 
said  Ralston.  "You  and  he  are  used  to  fighting 
every  day  as  a  matter  of  habit,  so  that  you're  sure 
to  go  at  each  other  on  the  smallest  provocation. 
But  with  him  and  me,  it's  been  a  sort  of  rare 
amusement  —  the  kind  of  thing  one  keeps  for 
Sundays,  and  we  don't  like  it  so  much.  Besides, 
since  you  say  that  he  won't  be  so  angry  after  all, 
why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"Exactly.  And  I  say,  why  shouldn't  I?  — for 
the  same  reason.  I  shall  just  say  that  we  got 
married  because  we  were  afraid  we  should  never 
get  his  consent,  but  that  since  he's  given  it  frankly, 

—  he  did  in  that  letter,  —  we've  agreed  to  tell." 


THE  RALSTONS.  263 

"  That's  just  what  I  should  say,"  answered 
Hal  stem.  "  Those  are  the  very  words  I  had  in  my 
mind.'7 

"Of  course  they  are.  Don't  we  always  think 
alike  ?  But  I  want  to  tell  him.  I'd  much  rather." 

"  So  would  I  —  much  rather.  It  will  end  in  our 
going  together.  That's  probably  the  most  sensible 
thing  we  can  do.  There'll  be  a  certain  grim  sur 
prise,  and  then  the  correct  paternal  blessing,  and 
the  luncheon  or  dinner,  according  to  the  time  of 
day." 

"It  will  be  dinner,  if  we  go  home  and  do  it 
now,"  said  Katharine,  thoughtfully. 

"  Come  on !  Let's  go  ! "  answered  Ealston. 
"  There's  no  time  like  the  present  for  doing  this 
sort  of  thing.  Where  are  we  ?  Oh  —  South  Fifth 
Avenue's  over  there  to  the  left.  That's  the 
shortest  way,  round  that  corner  and  then  straight 
up." 

They  turned  and  walked  in  the  direction  he 
indicated,  both  silent  for  a  while  as  they  thought 
of  what  was  before  them,  and  the  final  telling  of 
the  secret  they  had  kept  so  long. 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  shall  be  when 
everybody  knows,"  said  Katharine  after  a  time,  as 
they  paused  at  a  crossing  to  let  a  van  pass  by. 

"  Not  half  so  glad  as  I  shall  be,"  answered  Rals 
ton.  "But  it  couldn't  be  helped.  I  know  it's 
been  hateful  to  have  this  secret  —  well,  not  exactly 


264  THE  RALSTONS. 


. 


hanging  over  us,  but  to  have  it  a  part  of  us  all  this 
time.  Still  —  I  don't  see  when  we  could  have 
announced  it.  There's  been  one  thing  after  an 
other  to  make,  it  impossible,  and  somehow  we've 
got  used  to  it.  They  say  there's  nothing  like 
having  a  secret  in  common  to  make  two  people 
fall  in  love  with  each  other.  It  seems  to  me  it's 
true." 

'•  We  didn't  need  it,  dear,"  said  Katharine,  softly, 
as  they  began  to  cross  the  street. 

"  No  —  not  exactly."  Ralston  laughed.  "  But  it 
hasn't  made  it  any  worse,  at  all  events.  But  what 
moments  we've  had.  Do  you  remember  when  they 
began  to  talk  about  secret  marriages  that  night  ?  " 

"  Don't  I ! "  laughed  Katharine.  "  I  thought  I 
should  have  gone  through  the  floor!  How  well 
you  behaved,  Jack !  I  expected  that  you'd  break 
out  every  minute  and  fall  upon  poor  cousin  Ham. 
But  you  didn't.  As  for  me,  I  got  scarlet,  and  I 
don't  often  blush,  do  I  ?  Dark  people  don't.  Well 
—  it's  all  over  now." 

"  Not  till  we've  had  our  talk  out  with  your 
father.  We  can't  be  quite  sure  of  what  will 
happen  till  then." 

"No  —  but  he  can't  unmarry  us,  can  he?  So 
what  can  he  do  ?  He  can  say  that  he'll  disinherit 
me.  That's  the  worst  he  could  possibly  do,  and 
what  difference  would  it  make  ?  You're  going  to 
be  one  of  the  rich,  rich,  rich  men,  Jack  —  with 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  265 

ever  so  many  millions  more  than  you  can  possibly 
spend  on  onions  and  honey  — like  the  wayward  old 
man  of  Kilkenny,  you  know.  Besides,  papa  will 
not  be  angry  at  all.  He'll  simply  dance  with 
delight.  I  believe  he's  secretly  afraid  that  we're 
cheating  him,  because  we  never  speak  of  ever 
announcing  our  engagement.  He  thinks  we're 
revenging  ourselves  now,  and  each  means  to  marry 
somebody  else,  and  he's  in  fits  lest  he  should  lose 
you  for  a  son-in-law.  Isn't  it  fun  ?  " 

"Yes  —  your  beloved  father  in  fits,  as  you  call 
it  —  and  dancing  with  delight  —  it  doesn't  lack  the 
comic  element.  But  it  looks  so  simple  now,  just 
to  go  and  tell  him,  and  be  done  with  it.  Why 
haven't  we  done  it  before  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  we  couldn't.  It  wouldn't  have  been  safe 
until  the  will  was  settled.  He  was  really  dread 
fully  nervous  all  that  time.  I  never  saw  him  in 
such  a  state  before.  It  really  wouldn't  have  be,en 
safe.  No  —  this  is  our  first  chance.  We  might 
have  spoken  a  day  or  two  ago,  of  course,  but  not 
much  sooner." 

"No  — we  couldn't,"  said  Ralston.  "But  I'm 
glad  —  oh,  tremendously  glad  that  it's  coming  at 
last." 

"  And  then  —  Jack,"  said  Katharine,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  after  we've  spoken,  you  know  —  what 
are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  and  I  ?     Why,  get  married,  of  course  — 


266  TUE  RALSTONS. 

I  mean  —  as  if  we  were  getting  married.  There 
won't  be  any  people  nor  any  cake,  nor  any  gorgeous 
dress  for  you  —  poor  dear  !  But  we  shall  have  to 
pretend,  I  suppose  —  go  off  with  your  mother  and 
my  mother,  and  as  many  more  mothers  as  we  can 
pick  up,  to  make  us  perfectly  respectable,  and  then 
we  shall  come  back  married,  and  choose  a  house 
to  live  in.  That's  the  first  thing,  you  know.  My 
mother  will  never  hear  of  our  living  with  her,  now 
that  there's  to  be  lots  of  money.  She's  much  too 
wise  for  that.  Relations-in-law  are  just  bones  for 
husband  and  wife  to  fight  over.  But  of  course  my 
mother  will  come  very  often." 

"  And  my  mother,"  said  Katharine. 

"  Yes  —  your  mother,  too,"  assented  Ralston. 
"  Naturally,  they'll  both  come.  So  long  as  they 
don't  live  with  us,  we  shan't  mind." 

"  But  you're  very  fond  of  your  mother,  Jack, 
aren't  you  ?  "  asked  Katharine. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  We're  more  like  brother  and 
sister  than  anything  else.  You  see,  we've  always 
been  together  so  much." 

"And  yet  you'd  rather  not  have  her  live  with 
us?" 

"Certainly  not.     And  she  wouldn't  wish  to." 

"  It's  strange,"  said  Katharine,  thoughtfully.  "I 
don't  think  I  should  mind  having  my  mother  with 
us.  She'd  be  such  a  comfort  when  you  were  down 
town,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  answered   Ralston,  in  a  doubtful   tone. 


THE  EALSTONS.  267 

"  I  couldn't  take  my  mother  down  town  to  comfort 
me  at  Beman's,  could  I  ?  " 

u  What  an  absurd  idea !  But,  Jack,  —  shall  you 
still  go  to  Beman's  ?  You  can't,  you  know.  Every 
body  would  laugh  at  you.  A  man  with  forty  mil 
lions  or  so,  doing  clerk's  work  in  a  bank  !  It's 
ridiculous ! " 

"  No  doubt !  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  myself  ? 
What  do  people  like  that  do  ?  I  can't  hang  about 
the  clubs  all  day." 

"You  can  stay  at  home  and  talk  to  me,"  said 
Katharine.  "  We  can  tell  each  other  how  much 
nicer  it  is  than  when  we  had  to  meet  in  Washington 
Square  in  the  early  morning  —  when  I  had  to  put 
red  ribbons  in  my  window  —  do  you  remember  ? 
It's  only  three  or  four  weeks  ago,  but  it  seems 
years." 

"  It  does,  indeed.  What  tight  places  we've  been 
through  together  since  your  father  refused  to  hear 
of  me  as  a  son-in-law !  Holloa  !  There  goes  Ham 
Bright !  What  in  the  world  can  he  be  doing  down 
here  at  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

Bright  was  walking  towards  them,  as  quickly  as 
it  was  natural  for  him  to  walk,  with  his  long, 
heavy  stride. 

"  It's  of  no  use  to  run  away  —  he's  seen  us," 
said  Katharine. 

aHe  looks  in  a  better  humour  than  I've  seen 
him  lately,"  answered  John  in  a  low  voice,  as  they 
approached  Bright. 


268  THE  RALSTONS. 

They  met  and  stood  still  a  moment  on  the  pave 
ment.  Even  under  his  great  disappointment  Ham 
ilton  Bright  had  never  shown  the  least  ill-temper, 
though  he  had  avoided  the  Lauderdales  and  the 
Ralstons  as  much  as  possible,  and  had  managed  so 
that  he  scarcely  ever  saw  John  at  the  bank  except 
from  a  distance.  But  he  had  been  very  gloomy  of 
late.  Now,  however,  as  Ralston  had  said,  he  looked 
more  cheerful. 

"  Going  down  town  again  ?  "  asked  John.  "  Not 
that  I  come  from  Boston,  you  know,  Ham  —  but 
when  one  meets  a  man  going  down  South  Fifth 
Avenue  at  half  past  five  in  the  afternoon,  one's 
naturally  curious.  What's  up  ?  " 

"  Oh — nothing.  I  was  just  going  as  far  as 
Grand  Street  about  a  house  I've  bought  there. 
Did  you  know  they'd  found  the  other  will  ?  " 

"  Found  the  other  will  ?  "  repeated  Ealston,  in 
the  utmost  surprise.  "  Well  —  what  sort  of  a  will 
is  it  ?  Will  it  be  good  ?  " 

"  I'm  so  glad ! "  exclaimed  Katharine,  thought 
lessly. 

Bright  fixed  his  clear,  blue  eyes  on  her  with 
considerable  curiosity,  and  hesitated  an  instant 
before  he  spoke. 

"  Of  course  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They  always  said 
you  knew  what  was  in  it,  cousin  Katharine." 

"  Did  they  ?  I  don't  know  how  they  knew  that 
I  did,"  she  answered.  "  But  I'm  glad  it's  found, 
all  the  same." 


THE  R ALSTONS.  269 

"Are  you?  Well  —  I  hope  it's  all  right.  Of 
course  nobody  knows  what's  in  it.  Allen  wants 
to  collect  the  family  at  your  house  to-morrow  morn 
ing  to  hear  it  read.  It  seems  to  me  it  might  have 
been  managed  to-night,  but  he  said  there  wasn't 
time  to  send  round.  I  think  cousin  Alexander 
objected,  too.  He  wants  all  the  family.  Will  you 
tell  your  mother,  Jack  ?  Eleven  o'clock  at  Clinton 
Place.  Write  a  note  to  Beman  to  say  why  you 
don't  turn  up  at  the  bank." 

"All  right,"  answered  John,  gravely.  "I  hope 
it  will  be  all  right,  Ham,  old  man,"  he  added,  put 
ting  out  his  hand  as  Bright  showed  signs  of  being 
in  a  hurry. 

"Thank  you,  Jack,"  answered  the  latter,  heartily. 
"Not  that  you  and  I  shall  ever  quarrel  about  money. 
Good-bye,  cousin  Katharine." 

And  he  went  on  and  left  them  to  pursue  their 
way  in  the  opposite  direction.  They  walked  slowly, 
and  looked  into  one  another's  eyes. 

"  I  thought  he'd  burned  it,"  said  Ralston  at  last. 
in  a  tone  of  wonder. 

"  So  did  I,"  answered  Katharine.  "  Jack,"  she 
continued,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  it  won't  do  to  go 
and  see  papa  now.  Not  till  the  will's  been  read 
to-morrow.  You  don't  know  what  a  state  of  mind 
he'll  be  in  until  he's  heard  it  —  and  then  —  then 
I'm  afraid  it  will  be  worse  than  ever." 

"  Yes  —  let   me  see  —  how  was   it  ?      You  and 


270  THE  RALSTONS. 

Charlotte  and  I  are  to  have  everything,  and  pay 
half  the  income  to  the  parents.  Isn't  that  it?" 

"  That's  it.  And  there's  a  million  set  aside  for 
the  Brights.  But  Heaven  only  knows  what  that 
dreadful  court  will  do  this  time  !  " 

"  I  don't  much  care,"  answered  Ralston.  "  But 
all  the  settling  up  will  be  suspended  again  for  ever 
so  long.  You'll  never  get  the  money  to  pay  for 
your  new  frock,  dear,  with  all  your  millions!" 

"  Oh,  Jack  —  really  ?  I'm  frightened  to  death 
about  those  bills  !  " 

"  I  was  only  laughing  at  you,"  said  John,  laugh 
ing  himself.  "  Besides,  as  I'm  really  your  hus 
band,  I'm  responsible  for  your  dressmaker's  bills 
in  the  eye  of  the  law.  But,  I  confess,  I  begin  to 
wonder  whether  any  of  us  will  ever  see  any  of 
that  money." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

• 

LONG  after  midnight  Hester  Crowdie  sat  beside 
her  sleeping  husband,  watching  him  with  unwink 
ing  eyes.  The  soft,  coloured  light  was  shaded  so 
that  no  ray  could  fall  upon  his  face  to  disturb  his 
rest,  as  he  lay  back  upon  the  yielding  pillow,  sleep 
ing  very  soundly.  The  house  was  still,  but  the 
servants  were  not  all  gone  to  bed,  for  Hester  was 
anxious.  At  any  moment  she  might  need  to  send 
for  a  doctor.  But  she  sat  watching  the  unconscious 
man  alone. 

His  eyes  were  closed,  and  his  face  was  flushed. 
He  breathed  very  heavily,  though  she  did  not 
quite  realize  it;  for  the  sound  of  his  breathing  had 
increased  very  gradually  during  many  hours,  from 
having  been  at  first  quite  inaudible  until  it  filled 
her  ears  with  a  steady,  rhythmic  roar,  loud  and 
regular  as  the  noise  of  a  blacksmith's  bellows. 
But  she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  because  she 
had  watched  so  long. 

Hour  after  hour  she  had  sat  beside  him,  hardly 

changing  her  position,  and  never  leaving  the  room. 

To  her  the  house  seemed  still,  and  only  now  and 

then  the  echo  of  the  steam  horns  reached  her  ears, 

271 


272  THE  R ALSTONS. 

made  musical  by  the  distance,  as  it  floated  from  the 
far  river  across  the  dozing  city. 

On  a  fine  spring  night  New  York  is  rarely  asleep 
before  two  o'clock.  It  dozes,  as  it  were,  turning, 
half  awake,  from  time  to  time,  and  speaking 
drowsily  in  its  deep  voice,  like  a  strong  man  very 
tired,  but  still  conscious.  It  breathes,  too,  some 
times,  as  Crowdie  was  breathing,  very  heavily, 
especially  in  the  nights  that  come  after  days  of 
passion  and  struggling ;  and  the  breathing  of  a 
great  city  at  night  is  not  like  any  other  sound  on 
earth. 

Hester  was  conscious  that  all  was  not  well  with 
the  man  she  loved,  though  he  had  slept  so  long. 
She  rose,  and  moved  uneasily  about  the  room. 
She  was  very  pale,  and  there  were  dark  shadows  in 
her  pallor,  the  shadows  that  fear's  giant  wraith 
casts  upon  the  human  face  when  death  is  stalking 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  outside  the  door,  wait 
ing  to  see  whether  he  may  take  the  little  life  that 
falls  as  a  crumb  from  the  table  of  the  master,  or 
whether  he  must  go  away  again  to  his  own  place, 
out  of  sight. 

But  Hester  did  not  know  that  he  was  there,  as 
she  rose  and  crossed  the  room  and  came  back  to 
stand  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  gazing  at  Crowdie's 
face.  She  was  anxious  and  uneasy,  though  she 
had  watched  him  once  before  in  the  same  way. 
But  at  that  first  time  she  had  not  done  what  she 


THE  EALSTONS.  273 

had  done  now,  with  feverish  haste,  thinking  only 
of  helping  him. 

All  at  once  she  shivered,  and  she  turned  to  see 
whether  the  window  were  not  open.  But  it  was 
closely  shut.  It  was  as  though  something  very 
cold  had  been  laid  upon  her.  She  stared  about, 
nervously,  and  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  grew  very 
large,  with  a  frightened  look.  She  laid  both  hands 
upon  the  foot  of  the  bedstead,  and  grasped  it  with 
all  her  strength,  bending  forwards  and  staring  at 
Crowdie's  face,  and  the  chill  thrilled  very  strangely 
across  her  shoulders  and  all  through  her,  so  that 
she  felt  it  in  her  elbows  and  in  her  heels.  She 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  into  the  softly  shadowed 
corner  farthest  from  the  bed ;  for  she  was  sure  that 
something  was  there,  in  the  room,  a  bodily  pres 
ence,  which  she  must  presently  see.  The  chill 
ran  through  her  again  and  again,  cold  as  ice,  but 
with  a  painful  pricking. 

She  looked  at  Crowdie  again  and  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  no  longer  tightly  closed.  The  lids  were 
a  little  raised,  and  she  could  see  the  edge  of  the 
dark  iris,  and  the  white  below  it  and  on  each  side 
of  it.  He  had  moved  a  little  just  as  she  had 
turned  to  look  into  the  corner.  He  ought  not  to 
have  moved,  she  thought,  without  reason.  It  was 
as  though  a  dead  man  had  moved,  she  thought. 
And  again  the  chill  came.  She  was  sure  that  the 
window  must  be  open,  but  she  could  not  look 

VOL.    II.  K 


274  THE  EALSTONS. 

round.  Suddenly  she  remembered  how  when  she 
had  been  a  little  girl  she  had  been  taken  to  be 
photographed,  and  the  man  had  put  a  cold  iron 
thing  behind  her  head  that  seemed  to  hold  her 
with  two  frozen  fingers  just  behind  her  ears.  She 
felt  the  frozen  fingers  now,  in  the  same  places,  and 
they  were  pressing  her  head  down.  For  a  moment 
everything  swam  with  her,  and  then  it  all  passed. 
The  iron  hand  was  gone  —  the  window  was  shut  — 
there  was  nothing  in  the  corner. 

But  instantly  the  terrible,  stertorous  breathing 
rent  her  ears.  It  had  gone  on  for  hours.  The 
servants  could  hear  it  downstairs.  The  bedstead 
trembled  with  it  under  her  hands.  But  she  had 
not  been  conscious  of  it.  The  unnatural  thing 
that  had  touched  her  —  the  thing  that  had  come 
in  through  the  window  and  that  had  stood  in  the 
corner  —  it  had  unsealed  her  hearing.  She  heard 
now,  and  fearfully. 

With  one  slender  arm  under  the  pillow  she  raised 
him,  for  she  thought  that  he  might  breathe  more 
easily  if  his  head  were  higher.  His  laboured 
breath  deafened  her,  and  she  could  feel  it  through 
her  sleeve  upon  her  other  arm.  Desperately  she 
hastened  to  arrange  the  pillows.  But  the  dreadful 
sound  roared  at  her  like  the  flames  of  a  great  fire. 
In  sudden  and  overwhelming  terror  she  left  him  as 
he  was,  half  uncovered,  and  ran  to  the  door,  calling 
wildly  for  help,  again  and  again,  down  into  the 


THE  RALSTONS.  275 

dimly-lighted  staircase.  Then  she  came  back  in  a 
new  terror,  lest  her  screams  should  have  waked 
him.  But  he  slept  on.  In  the  movement  of  the 
pillow  as  she  had  withdrawn  her  arm,  his  head  had 
fallen  on  one  side.  His  eyes  were  half  open,  and 
the  breath  was  rough  and  choking. 

She  had  never  known  how  heavy  a  man's  head 
was.  Her  small,  bloodless  hands  made  an  effort  to 
turn  him  —  then  some  one  was  with  her,  helping 
her,  anxiously  and  clumsily. 

"Not  so!  Not  that  way!"  she  whispered, 
hoarsely,  with  drawn,  dry  lips,  and  her  little 
hands  touched  the  servant's  rough  ones  with 
uncertain  direction,  in  haste  and  fear. 

Then  he  breathed  more  easily,  and  she  herself 
drew  breath.  But  she  had  been  terrified,  and  she 
sent  for  old  Doctor  Kouth,  and  sat  down  in  her  old 
place  to  wait  and  watch  until  he  should  come.  It 
was  better  now.  The  coming  of  the  servant  had 
broken  the  loneliness,  and  there  was  life  in  the  ail- 
again,  instead  of  death.  Her  heart  fluttered  still, 
like  a  wild  bird  tired  out  with  beating  its  wings 
against  the  bars.  But  there  was  no  chill,  and  pres 
ently  the  heart  rested.  He  was  better.  She  was 
quite  sure  that  he  was  better.  The  rough  breath 
ing  would  cease  presently,  he  would  sleep  till 
morning,  and  then  he  would  waken  and  be  himself 
again,  just  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Now 
that  the  fear  was  gone,  she  rose  and  went  to  the 


276  THE   E  ALSTONS. 

window  and  let  the  shade  run  up  so  that  slio  could 
see  the  stars.  They  had  a  soft  and  sleepy  look, 
like  children's  eyes  at  bed-time.  The  musical  echo 
of  the  horns  came  to  her  from  the  river.  In  the 
old  Colonnade  House  opposite  and  to  the  right,  a 
single  window  was  lighted  high  up.  Perhaps 
some  one  was  ill  up  there  —  all  alone.  Then  the 
city  moved  in  its  dozing  rest,  with  a  subdued 
thumping,  rumbling  noise  that  lasted  a  few  sec 
onds.  Perhaps  there  was  a  fire  far  away)  and  the 
engines  and  the  hook-and-ladder  carts  were  racing 
away  from  the  lumbering  water-tank  down  one  of 
the  quiet  eastern  avenues.  The  light  in  the  win 
dow  of  the  Colonnade  House  went  out  suddenly  — 
no  one  was  ill  there  —  it  had  only  been  some  one  sit 
ting  up  late.  Hester  missed  the  light,  and  the  great 
long  building  looked  black  against  the  dim  sky, 
and  the  stars  blinked  more  sleepily.  She  drew  the 
shade  down  again  and  turned  back  into  the  room. 

She  started.  Crowdie  had  seemed  better  when  she 
had  left  his  side  for  a  moment.  It  had  eased  him 
to  move  his  head.  But  now  he  was  worse  again, 
and  the  room  almost  shook  with  the  noise  of  his 
breathing.  It  was  as  though  he  were  inhaling 
water  that  choked  him  and  gurgled  in  his  throat 
and  nostrils.  She  was  frightened  again,  and  ran 
to  his  side.  She  took  her  little  handkerchief  which 
lay  on  the  small  table  at  her  elbow,  and  passed  it 
delicately  over  his  mouth.  Her  hand  trembled  as 


THE  R ALSTONS.  277 

soon  as  she  had  done  it,  and  the  handkerchief  fell 
upon  the  woollen  blanket,  and  gently  unfolded 
itself  a  little  after  it  had  fallen.  It  caught  the 
light  and  seemed  to  be  alive,  as  though  it  had 
taken  some  of  the  sleeping  man's  life  from  him. 
She  started  again,  and  seized  it  to  crumple  it  and 
thrust  it  away,  with  something  between  fear  and 
impatience  in  her  movement,  and  she  bent  over 
her  husband's  face  once  more,  and  realized  where 
her  real  fear  was,  as  she  tenderly  smoothed  his 
fair  hair  and  softly  touched  his  temples. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  wait,  and 
she  waited,  not  patiently.  Sometimes  the  noise  of 
his  breathing  hurt  her,  and  she  pressed  her  hand 
to  her  side,  and  hid  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  The 
dismal  minutes  that  would  not  go  by,  nor  make  way 
for  one  another,  dragged  on  through  a  long  half- 
hour,  and  more.  Then  there  was  a  rumbling  of 
wheels  on  the  cobble  stones,  and  she  was  at  the 
window  in  an  instant,  flattening  her  face  against 
the  glass  as  she  tried  to  look  northward,  whence  the 
sound  should  come.  It  was  Routh's  carriage.  That 
was  a  certainty,  even  before  she  caught  sight  of  the 
yellow  glare  of  the  lamps,  moving  fan-like  along 
the  broad  way.  It  was  not  likely  that  any  other 
carriage  should  stray  into  the  loneliness  of  Lafay 
ette  Place  at  that  time  of  night.  The  carriage 
stopped.  Hester  saw  a  man  get  out,  and  heard  the 
clap  of  the  door  of  the  brougham  as  it  was  sharply 


278  THE  RALSTONS. 

closed  behind  him.  Immediately  she  was  at  the 
door,  her  hand  on  the  handle,  but  her  eyes  turned 
anxiously  upon  Crowdie's  face.  The  steps  came 
up  the  stairs,  and  she  looked  out.  It  was  Doctor 
Kouth  himself,  for  she  had  sent  a  very  urgent 
message. 

Without  going  upon  the  landing,  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  almost  dragged  him  into  the 
room,  for  somehow  her  terror  increased  to  a  frenzy 
as  she  saw  him,  and  she  felt  that  her  heart  could 
not  go  on  beating  long  enough  for  him  to  speak. 
Her  face  was  very  grave,  but  she  was  only  con 
scious  of  his  deep  violet-blue  eyes  that  glanced  at 
her  keenly  as  he  passed  her.  He  had  half  guessed 
what  was  the  matter,  for  the  terrible  breathing 
could  be  heard  on  the  stairs. 

Without  hesitation  he  took  the  shade  from  the 
light,  and  held  the  little  lamp  close  to  Crowdie's 
face.  He  raised  first  one  eyelid  and  then  the  other. 
The  pupils  were  enormously  dilated.  Then  he  felt 
the  pulse,  listened  to  the  heart,  and  shook  his  head 
almost  imperceptibly.  A  moment  later  he  was 
scratching  words  hastily  in  his  note-book. 

u  Why  didn't  you  send  word  that  it  was  mor 
phia  ? "  he  asked,  sharply,  without  looking  up. 
"  Send  that  by  the  carriage,  and  tell  them  to  be 
quick !  "  He  thrust  the  note  into  her  hands  and 
almost  pushed  her  from  the  room.  "  Make  haste  ! 
I  must  have  the  things  at  once ! "  he  called  after 
her  as  she  flew  downstairs. 


TflK   R ALSTONS.  279 

Then  he  tried  such  means  as  he  had  at  hand, 
though  he  knew  how  useless  they  must  be,  doing 
everything  possible  to  rouse  the  inan  from  the 
poisoned  sleep.  He  smiled  grimly  at  his  own  folly, 
and  laid  the  head  upon  its  pillow  again.  Hester 
was  in  the  room  in  a  moment. 

"It's  morphia,"  he  said,  "and  he's  had  an  over 
dose.  How  did  he  come  to  get  it  ?  Who  gave  it 
to  him?  " 

"  I  did,"  answered  Hester,  in  a  clear  voice,  and 
her  lips  were  white.  "  Will  he  die  ?  "  she  whis 
pered,  with  sudden  horror. 

She  almost  sprang  at  Routh  as  she  asked  the 
question,  grasping  his  arm  in  both  her  hands. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "I'll  try 
to  bring  him  round.  Control  yourself,  Mrs.  Crow- 
die.  This  isn't  the  time  for  crying.  Tell  me  what 
happened." 

She  told  him  something,  brokenly,  her  memory 
half  gone  from  fear  —  how  something  had  happened 
to  distress  him,  and  he  had  turned  red  and  fallen, 
twisted  and  unconscious — she  did  not  know  what 
she  told  him. 

"  Has  it  ever  happened  before  ?  "  asked  Kouth, 
who  was  holding  her  hands  to  quiet  her,  while  she 
moved  her  feet  nervously. 

It  had  happened  once,  she  told  him,  on  a  winter's 
evening  when  they  had  been  alone.  She  could  say 
that  much,  and  then  her  eyes  were  drawn  to  Crow- 


280  THE  EALSTONS, 

die's  face,  and  to  the  horror  of  it,  as  a  bent  spring 
flies  back  to  its  own  line  when  released.  Routh 
pressed  her  hand. 

"  Look  at  me,  please,"  he  said,  authoritatively. 
"We  can't  do  anything  for  him  till  my  things 
come.  Tell  me  why  you  gave  him  morphia." 

She  had  thought  it  was  the  right  thing.  Her 
husband  had  told  her  that  he  had  formerly  taken 
a  great  deal  of  it.  He  had  suffered  great  pain 
when  he  had  been  younger,  from  an  accident,  and 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  that  kills.  But  before 
they  had  been  married  he  had  given  it  up  —  for 
her  sake. 

Her  eyes  turned  to  him  again.  She  snatched 
her  hands  from  Routh's  and  pressed  them  desper 
ately  to  her  ears  to  keep  out  the  sound  of  his 
breathing.  But  Routh  drew  her  away  and  made 
her  look  at  him  again. 

And  these  attacks  came  from  having  given  up 
morphia,  she  told  him.  Crowdie  had  said  so.  He 
had  told  her  that,  of  course,  a  dose  of  the  poison 
would  stop  one  of  them,  but  that  he  was  deter 
mined  not  to  begin  taking  it  again.  It  would  ruin 
his  life  and  hers  if  he  did.  The  attacks  gave  him 
no  pain,  he  had  said.  He  did  not  remember  after 
wards  what  had  happened  to  him.  But  of  course 
they  were  bad  for  him,  and  might  come  more  fre 
quently.  He  had  been  terribly  distressed.  It  had 
seemed  to  be  breaking  his  heart,  because  it  must 


THE  RALSTONS.  281 

give  her  pain.  He  had  made  her  promise  never  to 
give  him  morphia  when  he  was  unconscious.  He 
was  determined  not  to  fall  back  into  the  habit 
of  it. 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  asked  Routh,  scru 
tinizing  her  pale  face  and  frightened  eyes. 

She  had  imagined  that  it  would  save  him  pain, 
though  he  had  told  her  that  he  recollected  nothing 
of  his  sensations  after  the  attack  was  past. 

"  He  was  all  stiff  and  twisted ! "  she  cried,  in 
broken  tones.  "  His  hands  were  all  twisted  —  his 
eyes  turned  up." 

"  But  where  did  you  get  the  morphia  ?  "  asked 
the  physician,  holding  her  before  him,  kindly,  but 
so  that  she  had  to  face  him. 

"He  had  it,"  she  said.  "I  made  him  show  it 
to  me  once.  He  kept  it  in  a  drawer  with  the  little 
instrument  for  it.  He  showed  me  how  to  pinch  the 
skin  and  prick  it  —  it  was  so  easy !  There  was  the 
mixture  in  a  bottle  —  the  cork  wouldn't  come  out 
—  I  did  it  with  a  hairpin  —  " 

"  How  much  did  you  give  him  ?  "  enquired  the 
doctor,  bringing  her  back  to  her  story,  as  her  mind 
groped,  terror-struck  amongst  its  details. 

"Why  — the  little  syringe  full  —  wasn't  that 
right  ?  "  She  saw  the  despair  of  life  in  his  eyes. 
"  Oh,  God !  My  God  !  "  she  shrieked,  breaking 
from  his  hands.  "  I've  killed  him ! " 

"I'm  afraid  you  have,"  said  Eouth,  but  under 


282  THE  EALSTONS. 

his  breath,  and  she  could  not  have  heard  him 
speak. 

She  threw  herself  wildly  upon  her  husband's 
breast,  clutching  him  with  her  small  white  hands, 
lifting  herself  upon  them,  staring  into  his  face, 
and  then  shrieking  as  she  fell  forwards  again,  her 
hands  tearing  at  her  own  thick  brown  hair.  Routh 
knew  that  Crowdie  could  not  be  disturbed.  He 
stood  back  from  the  bedside  and  watched  her  with 
far-seeing,  dreaming  eyes,  while  the  first  fever  of 
despair  burned  itself  out  in  a  raving  delirium.  He 
had  seen  such  sights  many  times  in  his  life,  but 
he  remembered  nothing  more  terrible  than  the 
grief  of  this  woman  who  had  killed  her  husband 
by  a  hideous  mistake,  thinking  to  save  him  pain, 
thinking  it  well  to  break  a  promise  he  had  taken 
of  her  for  his  safety,  and  which  she  had  believed 
had  been  only  for  his  self-respect. 

Crowdie  was  past  saving.  Kouth  did  all  that  his 
science  could  do,  trying  in  turn  every  known  means 
of  breaking  the  death  sleep,  trying  to  hem  in  the 
life  before  it  was  quite  gone  out,  that  the  very 
least  breath  of  it  might  be  imprisoned  in  the  body. 
But  it  was  of  no  use.  The  poison  was  in  the 
veins,  in  the  brain,  the  subtle  spirit  of  the  opium 
devil  distilled  to  an  invisible  enemy.  The  little 
hand  of  Fate,  that  had  been  so  small  and  noiseless 
a  few  hours  earlier,  spread,  gigantic,  and  grasped 
Science  by  the  throat  and  shook  her  off.  There 


THE  R ALSTONS.  283 

was  not  anything  to  be  done.  And  Hester  twisted 
her  hands,  and  moaned  and  shrieked,  and  beat  her 
breast,  like  a  woman  mad,  as  indeed  she  was. 

Routh  had  understood.  Crowdie  was  an  epileptic. 
He  had  perhaps  believed  himself  cured  when  he 
had  married  his  wife,  and  had  been  horrified  by  the 
first  attack.  He  loved  her,  and  he  would  naturally 
wish  to  hide  from  her  the  secret  of  his  life.  The 
general  feeling  about  epilepsy  is  not  like  what  is 
felt  for  any  other  human  weakness.  An  epileptic 
is  hardly  regarded  as  a  natural  being,  and  the 
belief  that  the  disease  is  hereditary  brands  it  with 
an  especial  horror.  It  had  been  ingenious  on 
Crowdie's  part  to  invent  the  story  about  the 
morphia,  and  to  carry  it  out  and  impress  it  on 
her  by  showing  her  the  instrument  and  the  bottle 
of  poison.  It  was  possible  that  there  might  have 
been  some  foundation  of  truth  in  the  tale.  He 
might  have  had  the  implements  from  a  physician. 
But  Routh,  who  had  known  him  long,  was  con 
vinced,  for  many  reasons,  that  he  had  never  been  a 
victim  to  the  habit  of  using  the  drug  regularly.  It 
had  been  very  ingenious  of  the  poor  man.  Hester 
could  hardly  have  known  anything  of  the  after 
effects  of  breaking  off  such  a  habit,  still  less  was  it 
probable  that  she  should  know  much  about  epilepsy, 
and  trusting  him  as  she  did,  it  was  natural  that  she 
should  never  have  reported  what  he  had  told  her 
to  any  one  who  might  have  explained  the  truth. 


284  THE  RALSTONS. 

The  only  mistake  he  had  made  had  been  in  not 
throwing  away  the  poison,  and  refilling  the  bottle 
with  pure  water.  He  had  miscalculated  the  anxiety 
she  would  feel  to  relieve  him,  if  he  ever  had  an 
attack  again.  The  mistake  had  cost  him  his  life. 

Towards  morning  the  house  in  Lafayette  Place 
was  very  still  again,  though  there  were  lights  in 
the  windows,  and  the  shadows  of  people  moving 
about  within  passed  and  repassed  upon  the  shades. 
Only  the  policeman  on  his  beat,  looking  up  east 
ward  and  seeing  the  dawn  in  the  sky  and  glancing 
at  the  windows,  knew  that  there  had  been  trouble 
in  the  house  during  the  night,  and  guessed  that  for 
a  day  or  two  the  blinds  would  not  be  raised.  But 
all  the  great  city  began  to  breathe  again,  turning  in 
its  sleep,  and  waking  drowsily  in  the  cool  spring 
dawning  to  begin  its  daily  life  of  work  and  play 
and  passion,  unconscious  of  such  trifles  as  the 
loss  of  a  man,  or  the  madness  of  a  frantic  woman's 
grief. 


CHAPTEK   XXXIII. 

IT  would  have  needed  more  imagination  than 
Katharine  Lauderdale  possessed  to  suppose  that 
the  scene  in  which  she  acted  a  part  during  the 
afternoon  could  possibly  lead  to  serious  conse 
quences.  Had  she  been  told  how  jealous  Hester 
really  was  of  her,  she  could  not  have  realized  what 
such  jealousy  meant.  She  had  gone  away  much  more 
hurt  by  Hester's  coolness,  and  by  her  refusal  to  re 
turn  to  the  old  terms  of  friendship,  than  disturbed 
by  the  thought  of  the  domestic  quarrel  she  had  left 
behind  her.  If  Hester  was  jealous,  foolishly,  and 
if  Crowdie  had  displeased  both  her  and  Katharine, 
the  young  girl  considered  it  only  fair  that  they 
should  talk  the  matter  over,  and  if  Hester  were 
angry,  it  might  teach  her  husband  to  be  more  care 
ful  in  future. 

What  had  really  affected  her  was  the  disenchant 
ment  she  had  felt  when  she  found  that  Hester 
had  no  intention  of  renewing  the  relations  which 
had  existed  before  the  affair  of  the  will  had  pro 
duced  a  temporary  estrangement.  It  had  been 
another  blow  to  another  ideal,  and  another  possi 
bility  of  life  was  wiped  away  from  the  future. 
285 


286  THE  EALSTONS. 

Little  by  little  her  whole  existence  was  being 
narrowed  to  one  thought,  one  happiness,  one  belief, 
all  centred  in  John  Ralston.  Of  all  the  many 
people  who  had  come  into  her  young  life,  he  alone 
had  not  brought  her  any  permanent  pain,  nor  any 
pain  at  all,  save  once,  when  she  had  been  terribly 
mistaken  about  something  he  had  done  during  the 
previous  winter.  More  than  once,  indeed,  and 
even  within  the  past  few  weeks,  they  had  been 
near  to  what  would  have  made  a  disagreement 
between  most  lovers.  But  only  near  —  no  more. 
Just  at  that  point  when  others  might  have  taken 
offence  foolishly,  or  spoken  the  hasty  word  that 
sets  the  whole  fabric  of  love  vibrating,  and  some 
times  makes  it  rock  and  topple  over  and  fall  —  just 
at  that  point  one  or  the  other  of  them  had  always 
yielded,  and  the  danger  had  been  over  in  an  in 
stant  and  as  soon  forgotten.  It  seemed  as  though 
they  could  never  quarrel ;  and  when  they  were 
weary,  as  they  often  had  been  of  late,  it  rested 
them  to  be  together  even  for  a  few  moments. 

So  it  had  happened  on  that  day  when  Ralston 
had  met  Katharine  as  she  was  coming  from  the 
Crowdies',  and  they  had  walked  together,  and 
made  a  plan  which  would  have  been  put  into 
execution  at  once,  but  for  the  news  Bright  had 
given  them,  and  which  momentarily  checked  them 
when  they  were  on  the  point  of  disclosing  their 
long-kept  secret.  Then  they  had  parted,  judging 


THE  RALSTONS.  287 

it  wiser  that  John  should  stay  away  from  the 
house  that  evening,  and  avoid  the  danger  of  irri 
tating  Alexander  Junior's  temper,  which  had  most 
probably  been  more  or  less  roused  by  the  finding 
of  another  will. 

Katharine  went  into  the  library  before  going  to 
her  room,  with  a  vague  idea  of  ascertaining  the 
state  of  the  family  humour,  if  any  one  happened 
to  be  there.  She  was  not  disappointed,  for  her 
father  and  mother  were  together,  Alexander  sit 
ting  upright  in  Katharine's  favourite  chair,  and 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  lying  upon  the  sofa  and  staring 
at  the  ceiling.  Katharine  saw  her  first,  and  under 
stood  her  mother's  warning  glance.  It  was  clear 
that  there  had  been  a  pause  in  the  conversation. 
Alexander's  face  was  cold  and  expressionless  as  he 
looked  at  his  wife. 

"Well,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  repressed  but 
righteous  indignation,  "have  you  heard  the  news, 
Katharine  ?  They've  found  another  will." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  kissing  her  mother  by 
force  of  habit  rather  than  from  any  other  motive. 
"I  just  met  Hamilton  Bright  in  the  street.  He 
told  me." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  knows  all  about  it."  Alexander 
spoke  with  profound  resentment,  as  though  Bright 
were  personally  responsible  for  the  second  will. 
"Katharine,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  you've  kissed 
me  to-day.  I  didn't  see  you  this  morning." 


288  THE  E ALSTONS. 

-v~ 

Katharine  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise,  smiled 
a  little  foolishly,  as  people  do  when  they  cannot 
understand  exactly  what  is  wanted  of  them,  and 
then  rose  almost  before  she  had  sat  down.  She 
went  to  him  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his  with 
precision,  and  both  he  and  she  kissed  the  air  au 
dibly  and  simultaneously.  Alexander  Junior  had 
always  detested  anything  like  demonstration,  but 
he  insisted,  on  the  other  hand,  upon  the  punctual 
execution  of  certain  affectionate  practices,  as  a 
matter  of  household  discipline.  Early  or  late  the 
air  must  be  kissed  when  the  cheeks  were  in  contact. 

"  I  thought  I'd  seen  you,"  said  Katharine,  as  she 
retired  again  to  her  seat. 

"  No,"  answered  Alexander,  meditatively.  "  No 
—  I  think  not.  My  child,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone 
unusually  gentle  for  him,  "do  you  think  that  with 
out  feeling  that  you  are  betraying  my  poor  uncle 
Kobert's  confidence,  you  could  tell  me  what  that 
will  contains  ?  " 

She  fancied  from  the  way  in  which  he  spoke 
that  he  had  framed  the  question  at  his  leisure 
before  she  had  come  home,  so  as  neither  to  offend 
her  nor  to  refer  to  his  previous  attempts  to  gain 
her  confidence.  She  hesitated  a  moment  before 
answering  him,  but  he  did  not  appear  to  be  im 
patient.  In  her  quick  weighing  of  the  case,  she 
could  see  little  or  no  reason  for  not  satisfying  his 
curiosity. 


THE  EALSTONS.  289 

"Kecollect,  my  dear,  that  I  only  wish  you  to 
speak  about  it,  if  you  feel  that  you  can  do  so  with 
a  perfectly  clear  conscience,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  of  course  !  "  she  answered,  repressing 
a  smile.  "But  I  don't  really  see  why  you  shouldn't 
know.  I  think,  while  he  was  alive  —  well,  that 
was  different.  But  now  —  I  think  it's  quite  fair. 
Of  course,  I  don't  know  what  will  this  is.  He 
may  have  made  several,  for  all  we  know.  But  the 
one  he  told  me  about  was  like  this.  His  idea  was 
to  make  three  trusts,  all  equal.  Oh  !  —  in  the  first 
place  there  was  to  be  one  million  for  the  Brights, 
amongst  the  three,  aunt  Maggie,  Hamilton,  and 
Hester.  Then  the  three  equal  shares  of  the  rest 
were  to  go  in  trust  to  Charlotte  and  Jack  Ralston 
and  me  —  what  did  you  say,  papa  ?  " 

Alexander  Junior  had  uttered  an  indistinct 
exclamation. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said.     "  Go  on." 

"  Each  of  us  three  was  to  pay  half  the  income  of 
a  share  to  one  of  you  three,  you  and  mother,  and 
Mrs.  Kalston.  But  before  that  —  I  forgot  to  say 
it  —  each  of  us  was  to  contribute  something  to 
make  up  an  income  for  grandpapa  —  about  fifty 
thousand  dollars  altogether,  I  think.  Then  the 
fortune  was  all  to  be  in  trust  for  our  possible  chil 
dren.  That  was  all.  I  don't  think  there  was 
anything  else." 

"  Do  you  mean   to  say  that  there  was   nothing 

VOL.    II. 19 


290  THE  RALSTONS. 

left  outright  to  any  of  us  older  ones  ? "  asked 
Alexander,  in  a  tone  of  stupefaction. 

"  Well  —  you  three  had  half  the  income  amongst 
you,"  answered  Katharine. 

"  What  an  absurd  will !  "  exclaimed  her  father. 

Then  he  bit  his  lip  and  sat  in  silence,  looking  at 
his  clasped  hands. 

"  But  it  may  not  be  that  will,  after  all,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  after  a  long  pause.  "  A  man  who 
will  leave  one  old  will  behind  him  may  leave  twenty. 
Lawyers  always  say  that  any  one  who  changes  his 
will  once  is  sure  to  do  it  again  and  again." 

He  drew  little  consolation  from  the  thought, 
however,  and  he  was  suffering  all  that  his  arid 
nature  was  capable  of  feeling,  in  the  anticipation 
of  losing  the  control  of  the  fortune  which  had  been 
practically  within  his  grasp.  But  he  had  grown 
used  to  uncertainty  and  emotion  within  the  last 
two  months,  and  his  face  was  set  and  hard.  Never 
theless,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  long  bear  the 
eyes  of  the  two  women  upon  him  in  his  trouble, 
unless  he  made  an  effort  of  some  sort. 

"  Did  the  will  say  nothing  about  the  trustee 
ship  ?  Who  were  to  be  the  trustees  ?  "  He  asked 
the  question  with  a  revival  of  interest. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Katharine.  "  I  never 
saw  the  will,  of  course.  He  only  told  me  what  I 
have  told  you." 

Alexander  said  nothing,  but   he  slowly  rose  to 


THE  EALSTONS.  291 

his  feet,  with  less  of  energy  and  directness  than 
he  usually  showed  in  his  movements. 

"  We'll  talk  about  it  this  evening,"  he  said,  and 
left  the  room. 

When  he  was  gone  Katharine  rose  and  went 
over  and  sat  upon  the  sofa  at  her  mother's  feet. 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  said  nothing  during  the  brief 
interview,  but  had  watched  her  husband's  face 
anxiously  when  he  spoke,  as  though  she  had  an 
ticipated  some  outbreak  of  temper,  at  least. 

"  I'm  glad  you  told  him  at  once,  dear,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  very  much  troubled  about  him.  I  was  afraid 
he'd  be  angry." 

"Isn't  it  dreadful  that  any  one  should  care  so 
much  ?  "  Katharine  spoke  thoughtfully,  and  looked 
at  the  floor. 

"I'm  very  anxious,"  answered  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
not  noticing  what  her  daughter  had  said.  "  He 
has  talked  in  his  sleep  all  night.  He  talks  of 
nothing  but  the  money.  Of  course,  it's  incoherent, 
and  I  can't  make  out  half  of  what  he  says.  It's 
all  the  worse.  I'm  afraid  his  brain  will  be  seri 
ously  affected  if  this  goes  on  much  longer." 

"  Mother  —  hasn't  every  one  got  some  great  pas 
sion  like  that,  locked  up  inside  of  them,  and  trying 
to  get  out  ?  " 

Katharine  looked  up  as  she  asked  the  question. 
Neither  she  nor  her  mother  thought  of  those  months 
of  insane  envy,  which  had  almost  separated  them  in 
heart  forever. 


292  THE  RALSTONS. 

"I  never  did,"  said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  innocently. 
"I  never  cared  for  anything  like  that." 

"I  have,"  said  Katharine.  "I  do.  It's  just  like 
my  caring  for  Jack.  You  might  as  well  try  to  face 
an  express  train  as  to  stand  in  the  way  of  it.  I 
know  just  how  papa  feels  —  now.  Only  with  him 
it's  money.  He'll  upset  the  whole  world  to  have 
it,  as  I'd  turn  the  universe  inside  out  rather  than 
lose  Jack.  I  suppose  that's  the  meaning  of  the 
word  passion  —  I'm  beginning  to  understand  it." 

"  It  sounds  much  more  like  the  meaning  of  sin," 
observed  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  I  don't  mean  in  your 
case,  dear.  Love's  quite  another  thing.  Perhaps 
I  shouldn't  have  said  it  at  all." 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

EVEN  Alexander  Junior,  more  than  preoccupied 
by  his  hopes  and  fears  in  regard  to  the  will, 
was  profoundly  shocked  by  the  news  of  Walter 
Crowdie's  sudden  death.  Doctor  Routh,  as  a 
friend  of  the  family,  took  it  upon  himself  to  notify 
all  the  relations  of  what  had  taken  place  in  the 
night,  for  during  the  first  hours  Hester  had  been 
incapable  of  any  thought.  He  had  undertaken  to 
inform  Hester's  mother,  and  he  wrote  to  the  Lau- 
derdales  and  the  Ealstons  at  once,  in  order  that 
they  might  not  learn  the  news  from  the  papers 
and  accidentally. 

No  one  of  the  family  had  ever  liked  poor 
Crowdie,  but  all  of  them  had  been  fond  of  Hester 
at  one  period  or  another  of  her  life,  though  she 
had  never  seemed  to  possess  the  power  of  keeping 
upon  terms  of  intimacy  with  more  than  one  of 
them  at  a  time,  and  never  with  any  for  very 
long.  The  fact  that  the  loss  was  hers  softened 
every  judgment  of  the  man  who  was  gone,  and  in 
the  first  anxiety  which  every  one  felt  to  show  a 
sympathy  which  was  genuine,  Alexander  Junior 
was  perhaps  the  only  one  who  remembered  that 
293 


294  THE  R ALSTONS. 

Mr.  Allen  was  coming  at  eleven  o'clock  to  open 
the  document  which  had  been  found,  before  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  family.  With  a  delicacy  which 
might  be  attributed  to  the  implacability  of  cir 
cumstances,  but  for  which  he  was  afterwards 
willing  to  take  more  credit  than  he  got,  he  sent 
a  message  down  town,  explaining  what  had  hap 
pened,  and  putting  off  the  meeting  until  the  after 
noon.  Alexander  spent  his  morning  in  making 
sure  that  every  one  could  be  present,  except  Mrs. 
Bright.  Hamilton  would  represent  his  mother 
and  sister. 

It  seemed  heartless  to  Katharine  that  no  one  — 
not  even  Hamilton  Bright  himself  —  should  have 
suggested  putting  off  the  reading  of  the  paper  at 
least  until  the  next  day,  and  once  more  the  ruth- 
lessness  of  humanity  was  thrust  upon  her  so  that  she 
could  not  help  seeing  it.  It  was  true,  she  admitted, 
that  in  reality  Crowdie  had  been  the  husband  of 
a  very  distant  cousin,  and  in  theory  neither  the 
Lauderdales  nor  the  Kalstons  would  be  expected 
to  suspend  a  curiosity  which  concerned  the  fate  of 
a  colossal  fortune,  for  the  matter  of  a  death  which 
hardly  touched  them.  Yet  Katharine  thought  that 
in  practice  people  might  show  some  feeling  in  such 
a  case.  What  she  saw  was  that  the  first  shock 
was  real  and  startling,  but  that  half  an  hour  after 
hearing  the  news  her  father  and  mother  were  dis 
cussing  Crowdie's  character  with  about  as  much 


THE  RALSTONS.  295 

consideration  as  though  he  had  been  a  dead  China- 
man,  or  a  foreign  prime  minister.  She  registered 
another  bit  of  strong  evidence  against  the  efficacy 
of  professed  religion,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room  for  the  morning,  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of 
being  alone  and  of  asking  herself  what  she  had 
really  thought  of  Crowdie. 

She  had  detested  him.  She  had  no  doubt  of 
that.  When  she  recalled  a  certain  smile  of  his, 
and  thought  of  the  redness  of  his  lips,  she  shivered 
and  was  disgusted.  She  did  not  like  to  remem 
ber  his  undulating,  womanish  gait,  nor  the  pallor 
of  his  face.  Everything  about  him  had  repelled 
her  intensely.  And  yet,  when  she  thought  of 
him  lying  dead  at  that  moment,  ,she  felt  a  sharp 
pang,  which  was  very  like  what  she  might  have 
felt  if  she  had  really  missed  him.  She  could 
not  understand  that.  Then  she  remembered  his 
voice,  and  the  enchantment  of  his  singing  on  that 
night  at  the  Brights'  the  song  of  Lohengrin  — 
the  song  of  the  swan,  she  thought,  as  it  had  turned 
out  to  be  in  truth,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 
She  wondered  whether  it  were  his  voice  that  she 
was  really  thinking  of  with  regret.  For  she  cer 
tainly  felt  the  little  pang.  It  came  again  when  she 
remembered  that  he  was  dead.  She  tried  it  two  or 
three  times.  It  came  once  more,  then  very  faintly, 
then  not  at  all,  try  as  she  might  to  think  of  him  as 
he  probably  looked.  She  had  never  seen  any  one 


296  THE  RALSTONS. 

dead  except  old  Robert  Lauderdale,  but  that  was  a 
recent  memory.  All  the  details  of  death  were  fresh 
in  her  mind,  and  she  could  picture  to  herself  the 
quiet  household,  the  subdued  voices,  the  darkened 
rooms,  the  flowers.  The  faint  smell  of  them  came 
back  to  her.  She  wondered  whether  the  smell  had 
been  so  peculiar,  and  faint,  and  sickening,  because 
they  had  been  almost  all  white.  But  there  was 
no  pang  of  'missing'  when  she  thought  of  the 
old  man.  Yet  she  had  been  fond  of  him,  and  she 
had  detested  Crowdie.  She  did  not  understand, 
as  she  sat  all  alone  thinking  about  it.  She  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  when  people  die  they  are 
missed  in  proportion  to  their  vitality  by  those  who 
have  not  really  loved  them.  Perhaps  she  was 
right.  The  nature  and  causes  of  those  sudden 
thrusts  which  ordinarily  sensitive  people  feel  have 
been  very  little  studied. 

But  Katharine  was  sincerely  sorry  for  Hester. 
She  did  not  know  whether  to  go  to  her  at  once,  or 
to  wait  until  the  next  day.  Her  impulse  was  to 
go  immediately,  though  she  asked  herself  whether 
Hester  could  possibly  wish  to  see  her,  and  she 
tried  to  put  herself  in  Hester's  place.  But  the 
thought  that  John  Ralston  might  die  brought  such 
a  burst  of  pain  with  it  that  she  rose  from  her  seat 
and  walked  about  the  room,  breathing  a  little  faster. 
Then,  having  risen,  she  went  downstairs  and  con 
sulted  her  mother. 


THE  EALSTONS.  297 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  should  go,"  said  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale.  "I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  like.  You've 
always  been  her  best  friend.  I'm  sure  she's  been 
much  nearer  to  you  than  your  sister  ever  was, 
hasn't  she  ?  Of  course  she  has.  It  can't  do  any 
harm  to  go  and  ask  for  aunt  Maggie,  and  if  Hester 
wants  to  see  you,  you  can  go  up  and  I'll  come  home 
alone,  or  stay  downstairs  with  aunt  Maggie  until 
you're  ready." 

"That  sounds  very  sensible,"  said  Katharine. 
"I'll  get  ready." 

At  the  house  in  Lafayette  Place  everything 
seemed  familiar  to  the  young  girl.  It  was  just 
as  she  had  anticipated.  The  blinds  were  drawn 
down.  Old  Fletcher,  the  butler,  shuffled  and 
looked  red  and  lachrymose,  as  he  opened  the  door. 
There  was  a  strong  smell  of  white  flowers. 

Presently  Mrs.  Bright  appeared,  pale  and  very 
grave,  in  a  black  frock  which  was  too  tight  for  her 
and  rather  old-fashioned  —  the  last  one  she  had 
worn  in  her  long  mourning  for  her  husband.  They 
went  into  the  little  room  which  had  been  the  scene 
of  the  trouble  on  the  previous  evening.  The  draw 
ing  of  old  Kobert  Lauderdale  still  lay  upon  the 
table,  where  Crowdie  had  placed  it ;  only  the  little 
tea-table  was  gone.  Again  Katharine  felt  that 
thrust  at  her  heart  which  she  could  not  explain. 
It  all  seemed  so  near,  and  yet  what  was  upstairs 
made  such  a  great  difference. 


298  THE  RALSTONS. 

They  talked  together  in  subdued  tones  for  a  IV \\ 
minutes.  Aunt  Maggie  said  that  Hester  was  behav 
ing  very  strangely,  and  that  she  was  anxious  about 
her.  Walter  had  always  seemed  to  possess  a 
strange  influence  over  her.  Mrs.  Bright  could 
not  understand  it.  She  herself  had  never  quite 
approved  of  the  match,  and  Walter  had  never 
endeared  himself  to  her,  in  spite  of  his  talent  and 
apparent  devotion  to  his  wife.  Hester  was  acting 
very  strangely.  She  was  not  wild  now.  She  did 
not  scream  nor  throw  herself  about.  On  the  con 
trary,  she  was  so  calm  that  her  quiet  was  posi 
tively  terrifying.  The  people  —  by  which  term 
aunt  Maggie  meant  the  undertakers  —  could  do 
nothing  without  her.  She  would  hardly  let  them 
touch  poor  Walter  —  she  wanted  to  do  everything 
herself.  She  must  certainly  break  down,  and  per 
haps  lose  her  reason.  People  sometimes  went  mad 
in  that  way,  but  it  would  be  a  pity  —  especially 
for  such  a  man  as  Crowdie.  No.  Walter  had 
never  endeared  himself  to  Mrs.  Bright. 

Katharine  looked  at  the  kind-hearted,  stout, 
elderly  woman,  with  her  refined  face  and  her  air 
of  superiority  over  the  common  herd,  and  won 
dered  whether  she  had  any  real  feelings.  She 
hardly  made  a  pretence  of  regret  for  the  young 
life  that  had  been  cut  short,  though  she  seemed 
really  anxious  for  her  daughter.  She  was  like  the 
rest  of  them,  thought  Katharine,  and  she  really 


THE  RALSTONS.  299 

had  no  heart.  That  was  clear.  She  asked  whether 
Hester  would  be  willing  to  see  her. 

"  Really,"  answered^  Mrs.  Bright,  "  she's  behav 
ing  so  strangely,  poor  child,  that  there's  no  know 
ing  what  she  may  do.  She  may  be  angry  if  I 
don't  tell  that  you're  here.  She's  insisted  on 
having  him  carried  into  the  studio.  Poor  dar 
ling!  I  let  her  do  as  she  pleases.  But  I'll  go 
and  ask  her  if  she'd  like  to  see  you.  It  can't  do 
any  harm,  at  all  events." 

Aunt  Maggie  left  the  room,  walking  on  tiptoe 
and  listening  before  she  actually  went  out,  after 
opening  the  door. 

"  Mother,  is  everybody  as  heartless  as  that  ?  " 
asked  Katharine  when  she  was  gone,  in  a  tone 
which  seemed  to  expect  no  answer. 

"  Heartless  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Lauderdale.  "  I 
don't  think  she's  heartless.  She's  dreadfully  anx 
ious  about  Hester." 

"  Yes  ;  but  about  poor  Mr.  Crowdie  —  she 
doesn't  seem  to  care  in  the  least." 

"  Oh,  no  —  she  never  liked  him.  Why  should 
she  ?  Take  care,  though !  somebody  might  hear 
us  talking." 

Katharine  sighed  and  was  silent.  Her  mother 
did  not  seem  to  understand  what  she  meant  any 
more  than  any  one  else.  After  the  first  shock  they 
all  appeared  to  be  perfectly  indifferent.  Crowdie 
was  dead.  Bury  him!  Doubtless  they  were  al- 


300  THE  RALSTONS. 

ready  wondering  whether  Hester  would  marry 
again,  and  if  so,  when.  Yet  Katharine  knew  that 
they  would  all  be  shocked  if  Hester  wore  mourn 
ing  less  than  three  years.  It  was  her  business  to 
mourn  ;  it  was  theirs,  in  the  interest  of  society,  to 
see  that  she  mourned  long  and  decently  for  a  man 
whom  they  had  all  disliked. 

Before  long  Mrs.  Bright  returned,  softly  as  she 
had  gone,  shut  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her,  and 
looked  round  the  room  as  though  she  thought  that 
some  fourth  person  might  be  present  and  listening. 
Then,  with  an  air  of  secrecy,  she  spoke  to  Katha 
rine. 

"  My  dear,  she'll  see  you  if  you'll  come  upstairs." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Katharine.  "  I'll  go  at 
once." 

"  But  you  mustn't  be  surprised  by  anything  she 
does,"  said  Mrs.  Bright,  anxiously.  "  She'll  want 
you  to  see  him,  I  think.  She's  looking  very  quiet, 
but  she's  very  strange.  Humour  her,  Katharine 
—  humour  her  a  little." 

Katharine  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

"  She's  waiting  for  you  on  the  landing  outside 
the  studio,"  added  Mrs.  Bright.  "  I  needn't  go  up 
with  you,  need  I  ?  I've  just  been  up  all  those 
stairs." 

"  Of  course  not."  Katharine  answered. 

As  she  went  something  oddly  like  fear  got  hold 
of  her,  and  her  heart  fluttered  unexpectedly.  She 


THE  RALSTONS.  301 

was  conscious  that  she  was  pale  as  she  ascended  to 
the  top  of  the  house.  Probably,  she  thought,  it 
was  the  idea  of  seeing  the  dead  man's  face  that 
affected  her  unpleasantly.  She  nerved  herself  to 
make  an  effort  and  went  on,  wondering  that  it 
should  be  so  strangely  hard  to  go. 

As  she  began  to  go  up  the  last  flight  of  stairs 
she  was  conscious  that  Hester  was  standing  at  the 
top,  waiting  for  her.  She  wished  that  she  had  not 
offered  to  come.  Then  she  looked  up  and  met  the 
deep  eyes,  and  saw  the  ghastly  face  turned  towards 
her.  Hester  was  excessively  pale,  and  even  her 
lips  were  colourless.  Her  slight  figure  looked 
taller  than  usual  in  the  straight  loose  gown  of 
black,  and  her  hands,  clasped  together  upon  the 
banister,  had  the  emaciated,  nervous  look  of  some 
hands  in  pictures  by  the  early  painters.  Exhaus 
tion,  in  some  people,  shows  itself  in  the  hands 
before  it  appears  in  the  face. 

Katharine  reached  the  top  of  the  flight  and 
stood  still,  looking  at  her,  wishing  to  speak  but 
not  finding  words  just  then.  They  had  parted 
almost,  if  not  quite,  as  enemies,  on  the  previous 
day.  Katharine  went  a  step  nearer.  Her  face 
showed  well  enough  the  deep  sympathy  she  felt, 
but  Hester  did  not  exactly  look  at  her  face,  but 
only  into  her  eyes,  with  a  fixed  stare  that  made 
the  young  girl  feel  uneasy.  That  stare  alone  would 
have  justified  Mrs.  Bright  in  saying  that  her 


302  THE   RALSTONS. 

daughter  was  behaving  strangely.  The  transpar 
ent  hands  unclasped  one  another,  but  they  fell 
straight  to  her  sides.  As  Katharine  extended  her 
own,  Hester  drew  back,  the  stare  became  more  fixed, 
the  eyes  opened  more,  till  they  were  very  wide,  the 
finely  pencilled  brows  were  raised  haughtily,  and 
the  shadowy  figure  seemed  to  grow  taller.  Then 
she  spoke,  slowly  and  distinctly,  in  a  voice  that 
did  not  tremble. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you.  Come  with  me." 
She  turned  and  opened  the  door  of  the  studio, 
leading  the  way.  Katharine  was  startled  by  what 
she  saw.  The  great  room  had  been  darkened  as 
much  as  possible  by  drawing  all  the  thick  shades, 
which  had  been  made  to  keep  out  the  sun  in  sum 
mer,  and  a  great  number  of  candles  were  burning 
with  a  dim,  yellow  light.  The  air  was  thick  with 
the  smoke  of  burning  perfumes,  which  rose  in  tall, 
straight,  grey  plumes,  from  two  censers  placed  upon 
the  hearth  before  the  huge  chimney-piece.  In 
the  absolutely  still  atmosphere  the  smoke  rose 
to  the  height  of  a  man  before  it  broke  and  opened, 
hanging  then  like  draped  grey  curtains  in  the 
heavy  air.  The  strange,  cool  smell  of  burning 
myrrh  predominated,  but  in  spite  of  it  the  drowsy, 
overpowering  odour  of  frankincense  reached  Kath 
arine's  nostrils.  She  stood  still  and  stared  through 
the  smoke. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  Crowdie   lay  dead, 


THE  R ALSTONS.  303 

clothed  in  a  long  garment  of  stuff  that  was  soft 
and  dark.  The  couch  was  covered  with  a  silken 
carpet  which  hung  down  to  the  floor.  The  pale 
light  of  death  softened  and  beautified  the  repulsive 
features,  in  their  solemn  cairn,  to  a  degree  which 
Katharine  would  not  have  believed  possible,  had 
she  been  capable  of  thought  just  then.  But  she 
was  taken  by  surprise ;  she  was  a  little  frightened, 
and  she  was  dazed  by  the  glare  of  the  many  can 
dles,  and  dizzy  with  the  sudden  breathing  of  the 
perfume-laden  air.  She  stood  still  at  a  little  dis 
tance  from  the  couch  and  looked  at  the  dead  face, 
stretching  her  head  forward  with  a  sort  of  timid 
curiosity,  holding  her  body  back  with  the  instinc 
tive  dread  of  death  which  the  young  feel  in  spite 
of  themselves. 

Hester  did  not  stand  beside  her.  With  slow 
steps,  as  though  she  were  moving  with  a  solemn 
procession  to  the  rhythm  of  a  funeral  march, 
sweeping  her  long  black  gown  noiselessly  behind 
her,  she  passed  to  the  other  side,  and  came  up  to 
the  couch  and  stood  over  her  husband's  body,  fac 
ing  Katharine.  In  the  shadowy  smoke  of  the 
incense,  with  the  flaring  light  of  the  wax  candles 
upon  her,  she  was  like  a  supernatural  being.  She 
might  have  been  the  freed  soul  of  the  dead  man, 
come  back  to  look  once  more  at  Katharine's  face. 

"  Come  nearer  to  me,"  she  said,  in  deadly  calm, 
without  a  tremor. 


804  THE  EALSTONS. 

An  older  woman  might  not  have  obeyed  the 
summons,  and  might  have  realized  that  Hester 
Crowdie  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  mad,  since 
it  could  not  be  supposed  that  she  had  planned  a 
tragic  scene,  with  a  theatrical  instinct  nowhere  at 
fault,  even  in  a  single  detail.  But  there  was  some 
thing  really  terrible  and  grand  in  it,  as  it  struck 
Katharine ;  and  there  was  the  grim  reality  of  death 
lying  there  and  vouching  for  the  widowed  woman's 
sincerity.  To  those  not  familiar  with  the  dead, 
nothing  can  seem  like  comedy  in  their  silent  pres 
ence.  To  those  for  whom  death  has  lost  all  horror, 
there  is  scarcely  anything  but  comedy,  anywhere. 

Katharine  obeyed  and  went  nearer,  but  not  as 
near  as  Hester  herself.  Instinctively  she  held 
back  her  skirts,  as  though  fearing  even  the  contact 
of  the  carpet  on  which  Crowdie  lay.  Her  right 
hand  she  still  carried  in  a  scarf. 

Hester's  fixed  gaze  met  her  again,  and  she  was 
conscious  that  her  own  eyes  were  uncertain.  There 
was  an  irresistible  something  which  drew  them  to 
the  dead  man's  face.  But  when  Hester  spoke 
again  the  young  girl  looked  at  her. 

"  Katharine  Lauderdale,  this  is  your  doing,  and 
this  is  what  you  have  done  to  me." 

The  words  came  clearly,  like  those  she  had 
spoken  before,  monotonously  and  distinctly,  as 
though  she  had  learned  them  by  rote.  Katharine 
started  at  first,  and  opened  her  eyes  wider,  as 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  305 

though  doubting  whether  she  were  in  her  senses. 
But  she  found  no  word  to  say,  though  her  lips  were 
parted. 

"You  have  killed  my  husband.  You  have  de 
stroyed  my  life.  I  have  brought  you  here  to  see 
what  you  have  done." 

Katharine  did  not  start  this  time,  but  she  drew 
back  a  little,  with  an  indescribable  horror  that  was 
not  fear. 

"You  must  be  mad,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
keeping  her  eyes  on  Hester's. 

A  strange,  fantastic  smile  played  upon  the  pale 
lips,  and  looked  more  than  unnatural  in  the  yellow 
glare  of  the  candles. 

"  I  wish  I  were  mad,"  she  said. 

In  the  long  silence  which  followed,  Katharine 
glanced  at  the  dead  man's  face.  Its  set,  waxen 
smile  was  like  Hester's,  and  the  girl  felt  a  creep 
ing  shudder  in  her  shoulders.  She  bent  her  body 
a  little. 

"  He  cannot  hurt  you,"  said  Hester,  holding  her 
with  inexorable  eyes.  "  He  knows  that  you  have 
killed  him,  but  he  cannot  hurt  you.  If  he  could, 
he  would  —  for  my  sake.  Come  close  to  him  and 
look  at  him." 

Katharine  came  forward  again,  more  because  she 
was  brave  and  would  not  even  seem  afraid,  than 
for  any  other  reason. 

"  My   dear   Hester,"    she   said,  trying  to  speak 

VOL.    II.—  20 


306  THE  RALSTONS. 

naturally,  but  in  a  low  voice,  "you're  beside  your 
self  with  grief.  You  don't  know  what  you're 
saying." 

"I  know  what  I  am  saying/'  answered  the 
widowed  woman,  solemnly.  "  You  shall  listen  to 
all  I  have  to  say.  Then  you  shall  go,  and  I  will 
never  see  you  again  until  you  are  dead.  Then  I 
will  come  and  look  at  you,  for  his  sake.  You  tried 
to  steal  him  from  me  while  he  was  living.  He  is 
mine  now,  to  keep  forever.  You  cannot  get  him. 
Look  at  him,  for  he  is  mine.  The  last  words  he 
ever  heard  me  speak  were  cruel,  unkind  words. 
Then  he  fell.  He  did  not  speak  afterwards.  I 
gave  him  the  morphia.  I  told  you  my  story  once 
—  but  it  was  not  the  true  story.  It  killed  him. 
It  was  my  hand  that  killed  him,  through  your 
soul,  and  your  soul  shall  pay  me.  I  am  not  mad. 
You  have  done  this  to  me.  You  know  it  now. 
You  made  me  speak  those  last  words  he  heard." 

Katharine  listened  in  silence  —  chilled  with  a 
sort  of  horror  of  which  she  had  never  dreamt. 
There  was  an  unnatural  terror  for  her  in  the 
woman's  deadly  calm.  There  was  no  passion  in 
the  voice,  no  hatred,  no  jealousy.  It  was  as 
though  she  were  possessed  by  an  unseen  power 
that  used  her  mouth  to  speak  with,  and  controlled 
her,  and  against  which  she  could  do  nothing. 

"  Have  you  heard  ?  Do  you  know  now  ?  "  she 
asked  after  a  pause. 


THE  IIALSTONS.  307 

Still  Katharine  did  not  speak.  A  new  sensation 
of  fear  crept  upon  her.  She  began  to  think  that 
the  dead  man's  lips  moved  and  that  the  quiet  lids 
trembled,  and  she  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the 
face. 

"  You  have  no  heart,"  said  the  voice.  "  You  are 
the  worst  woman  alive  to-day,  anywhere  in  the 
whole  world.  You  said  you  were  my  friend,  and 
you  have  done  this  thing  to  me.  You  have  done 
it.  No  one  else  has  done  it.  It  is  all  your  fault. 
You  pretended  that  you  loved  me  like  a  sister,  and 
you  came  often,  and  he  saw  you.  You  are  more 
beautiful  than  I  am,  and  he  saw  that  you  were. 
But  he  did  not  love  you.  Oh,  no'!  He  loved  me. 
You  pleased  his  eyes  as  everything  beautiful 
pleased  him.  He  did  not  know  how  bad  you  were. 
But  I  made  him  say  that  he  hated  you,  —  he  said 
it  twice  before  he  died,  —  and  you  had  only  pleased 
his  eyes.  But  now  they  are  closed,  and  you  can 
not  please  him  any  more,  because  he  cannot  see 
you." 

Katharine  looked  up  slowly,  realizing  that  the 
woman  was  insane.  She  had  never  seen  an  insane 
person,  and  it  had  been  hard  to  understand  at  first. 
She  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Her  blood  froze  at 
her  throat  —  she  could  feel  the  cold  at  her  collar. 
Still  the  monotonous  voice  went  on  speaking,  while 
the  incense  and  the  myrrh  sent  up  their  straight 
plumes  of  smoke  into  the  cloudy  air,  and  the  heavy 


308  THE  EALSTONS. 

perfumes  grew  more  and  more  oppressive  and 
stupefying. 

"You  pleased  him  so  much  that  he  broke  his 
promise  to  me,  and  it  was  almost  the  only  promise 
I  had  ever  asked  of  him.  He  sang  to  you,  because 
you  pleased  him  so  much.  I  will  not  forgive  you. 
I  never  will.  But  he  is  dead  now.  See  !  I  kiss 
him.  He  does  not  open  his  eyes  as  he  used  to  do 
when  I  kissed  him  softly." 

The  dark  figure  bent  down  and  Hester  kissed 
the  dead  face,  and  again  her  unnatural  smile 
seemed  to  be  reflected  in  it. 

"  He  smiles,"  she  said.  "  But  he  cannot  kiss  me. 
And  he  cannot  sing  to  you  any  more.  You  made 
him  do  it  once.  He  will  not  do  it  again.  Once 
you  made  him  break  his  promise.  He  will  not 
break  it  again.  He  will  keep  it.  The  dead  keep 
their  promises,  and  he  has  promised  to  be  mine 
always  now.  I  am  not  so  sorry  that  he  is  dead, 
because  he  will  be  always  mine.  He  smiles,  you 
see.  He  knows  it.  He  does  not  want  you,  be 
cause  you  cannot  please  him  now  that  his  eyes  are 
shut  so  fast.  He  does  not  want  you  now.  Go 
away,  Katharine  Lauderdale.  Walter  does  not 
want  you." 

There  was  no  rising  intonation  in  the  voice  that 
spoke,  no  emphasis,  no  authority.  But  the  calm, 
unchanging  tone  was  far  more  terrifying  than  any 
passionate  outburst  could  have  been.  Katharine 
shrank  back,  and  then  stood  still  a  moment. 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  309 

"Why  do  you  stay?"  asked  the  voice.  "We 
hate  you.  Go  away.  You  see  that  we  want  to  be 
alone  together.  We  do  not  want  you." 

Katharine  felt  herself  growing  white  with  the 
horror  of  it  all.  She  bowed  her  head  in  silence 
and  went  to  the  door,  turning  a  moment  to  look 
back  as  her  hand  was  on  the  spring.  She  felt  as 
though  she  were  in  some  mysterious  tomb  of 
ancient  days,  where  the  living  and  the  dead  were 
buried  together  —  the  rigid  dead  upon  his  couch, 
the  living  beside  him,  flexible,  mad,  dangerous  with 
the  overstrain  of  an  incredible,  inexpressible  grief. 

The  dark  figure  stood  erect  with  dropped  and 
folded  hands.  The  white  face  stood  out  lumi 
nously  pale  against  the  grey  smoke-clouds  of  the 
incense  and  myrrh,  the  yellow  flaming  candles 
flickered  still  from  the  draught  of  Katharine's 
dress  as  she  had  passed  and  threw  an  uncertain, 
moving  light  upon  the  motionless  mask  of  the 
^ead  man. 

"  Leave  us  alone  together.  We  want  to  be  alone 
together.  Go  away  and  never  come  back  to  us 
again." 

Katharine  was  going,  but  her  terror  suddenly 
overcame  her,  and  she  opened  the  door,  went  out, 
and  closed  it  behind  her  in  a  flash,  gasping  for  a 
breath  of  unscented  air.  She  reeled  as  she  came 
out,  under  the  clear  daylight  of  the  glass  roof 
which  covered  the  staircase,  and  she  steadied  her- 


310  THE  ^ALSTONS. 

self  against  the  door-post,  stupidly  staring  at  the 
tapestry  on  the  opposite  wall.  She  felt  sick  and 
faint,  and  for  a  moment  she  knew  that  she  could  not 
get  downstairs  without  falling.  She  felt  that  she 
was  full  of  the  perfume-loaded  air  she  had  breathed, 
that  it  clung  to  her  like  a  blanket,  and  hindered 
her  from  drawing  a  full  breath.  She  raised  her 
left  arm  to  her  face  mechanically,  and  smelled  it. 
The  stuff  was  full  of  the  incense,  and  she  threw 
her  head  back  with  parted  lips,  to  draw  in  fresh 
ness  if  she  could. 

She  was  so  strong  that  she  did  not  faint,  but 
stood  erect  against  the  door-post  until  she  could 
trust  herself  to  walk.  She  listened  at  the  door  for 
a  moment  to  hear  whether  the  mad  woman  were 
still  talking  over  her  dead  husband,  or  whether, 
perhaps,  the  madness  had  suddenly  yielded  to  the 
merciful  tide  of  tears.  But  there  was  no  sound. 
They  were 'alone  together,  as  Hester  had  said  that 
they  wished  to  be. 

Katharine  pressed  her  hand  to  her  eyes  with  all 
her  might,  as  though  to  crush  out  the  memory  of 
what  she  had  seen.  Then  she  went  forward  at 
last,  and  began  to  go  down  the  stairs. 

She  heard  a  man's  footstep,  swift,  nervous  and 
strong,  coming  up  from  below,  and  as  she  reached 
the  first  landing  she  came  face  to  face  with  Paul 
Griggs.  His  Aveather-beaten  face  was  so  grey  and 
drawn  that  she  should  hardly  have  known  him  in 


THE  EALSTONS.  311 

a  crowd,  and  the  weary,  dark  eyes  that  met  hers  had 
something  in  them  which  she  could  not  understand. 
He  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  but  would  have  said 
nothing  had  she  not  spoken. 

"  She's  alone  with  him,  up  there,"  she  said  in 
a  sort  of  scared  whisper.  "She's  going  mad  —  it's 
dreadful." 

Griggs  looked  as  though  he  would  have  gone 
on  without  answering,  though  he  did  not  actually 
make  a  step.  His  dark  eyes  were  dull  and  glassy, 
and  his  jaws  were  set,  as  though  he  were  in  great 
pain. 

"  Can't  you  do  something  for  her  ? "  asked 
Katharine,  hesitating.  "  Shouldn't  we  send  for 
Doctor  Kouth  ?  He  might  give  her  something." 

She  made  the  suggestion  vaguely,  as  women  do. 
There  is  something  pathetic  about  their  blind  faith 
in  medicine,  though  they  may  have  seen  it  fail 
a  hundred  times. 

"If  you  like,"  answered  Griggs,  in  a  far-away 
tone,  as  though  he  scarcely  knew  what  she  was 
saying.  "Send  for  him  if  you  like.  I  don't 
care." 

Katharine  stared  at  him  in  surprise.  He  was 
sometimes  a  little  absent-minded,  but  she  could 
not  understand  his  being  so  at  that  moment.  She 
laid  her  left  hand  upon  his  arm  with  a  gesture  half 
of  appeal,  half  of  authority. 

"Something   must  be  done,"  she  said.     "'She's 


312  THE  RALSTONS. 

really  going  mad.  She  mustn't  be  left  alone  with 
it  any  longer." 

"  I  don't  think  she'll  go  mad,"  Griggs  answered. 
"  But  I  shall,"  he  added,  with  an  unnatural  smile, 
which  recalled  Hester's. 

"You!"  exclaimed  Katharine,  in  a  sudden  as 
tonishment  which  made  her  forget  everything  else 
for  an  instant.  "  Why  ?  I  know  you  liked  him  —  " 

"  Liked  him ! "  repeated  Paul  Griggs,  in  a  voice 
that  was  almost  loud,  and  the  dull  eyes  flashed  for 
a  moment,  and  then  became  glassy  again.  "  I  can't 
talk  now,"  he  said,  rapidly.  "Forgive  me  —  I 
can't  stop ! " 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  go  down,  he  sprang 
up  the  stairs.  Katharine  looked  after  him  with 
wonder.  A  moment  later  she  heard  the  door  of 
the  studio  open  and  shut  quickly,  and  she  was  sure 
that  she  heard  one  word,  r  name — Walter  — 
spoken  in  the  broken  accent  of  a  man's  despair. 

Again  she  paused  before  she  went  downstairs, 
and  hesitated,  not  as  to  what  she  should  do,  but  as 
to  what  she  should  think.  At  least,  she  felt  that 
her  friend  Griggs  was  not  without  heart,  whatever 
the  true  ground  of  his  extraordinary  emotion  might 
be.  She  had  stumbled  upon  one  of  those  mysteries 
which  lie  so  near  the  dull  surface  of  society  around 
us,  and  had  seen  a  human  soul  at  that  moment  of 
all  others  when  it  would  not  have  been  seen.  As 
she  thought  of  it,  she  felt  at  the  same  moment  the 


THE  R ALSTONS.  313 

instinct  to  tell  no  one,  not  even  Ralston,  of  the  few 
words  she  had  exchanged  with  Griggs  on  the  stairs. 
The  resolution  formed  itself  in  her  mind  uninten 
tionally,  as  a  natural  prompting  of  honour  against 
the  betrayal  of  a  secret  accidentally  learned.  What 
the  secret  could  be  she  could  not  guess,  and  it  was 
long  before  she  knew,  but  she  did  not  break  the 
promise  which  had  formulated  and  pledged  itself. 
Long  afterwards,  when  she  learned  the  strange 
story  of  Griggs'  life,  which  no  one  had  ever  sus 
pected,  she  wondered  that  on  that  day  he  had  not 
killed  her  with  his  hands  rather  than  be  delayed 
the  smallest  fraction  of  an  instant  on  his  way  up 
those  stairs.  In  his  place,  woman  as  she  was,  she 
would  have  been  less  merciful,  and  she  would  not 
have  been  courteous  at  all. 

But  she  knew  nothing  of  the  wanderer's  exist 
ence,  save  that  he  had  of  late  strayed  into  her  own, 
and  that  he  had  seemed  oddly  attached  to  a  man 
who  was  almost  universally  disliked  without  any 
well-defined  reason.  Her  intuition  told  her  that  he 
had  something  to  conceal,  and  her  faith  in  him,  such 
as  it  was,  led  her  to  believe  that  it  was  something 
not  wrong,  but  sacred  almost  beyond  anything 
imaginable. 

She  went  quietly  downstairs,  and  many  things 
happened  to  her,  good  and  bad,  before  she  saw  the 
face  of  Paul  Griggs  again.  She  found  her  mother 
and  Mrs.  Bright  sitting  side  by  side,  and  aunt 


314  THE  liALSTONS. 

Maggie  was  holding  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  hand,  and 
admiring  her  bonnet.  A  death  which  does  not 
come  too  near  to  ^them  draws  certain  types  of 
women  together.  As  Katharine  entered  the  room 
and  saw  the  two  together,  she  wondered  whether 
the  death  of  Walter  Crowdie  was  to  have  the  effect 
of  reconciling  the  Lauderdales  and  the  Brights. 

"  Well,  child,  have  you  seen  her  ?  "  asked  Katha 
rine's  mother,  with  a  considerable  show  of  interest. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

"PEOPLE  don't  often  really  go  mad  from  grief/' 
said  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  as  she  and  Katharine  walked 
slowly  homeward  in  the  bright  spring  afternoon. 
"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  Hester  married  again 
in  a  few  years.  Not  very  soon,  of  course  —  but  in 
time.  She's  very  young  yet.  She'll  be  very  young 
still  in  five  years  —  for  a  widow." 

"  I  don't  think  she  can  ever  get  over  it,"  an 
swered  Katharine,  rather  coldly,  being  displeased 
at  her  mother's  careless  way  of  speaking. 

"It's  a  mistake  to  take  things  too  hard,"  said 
the  elder  woman.  "And  it's  a  great  mistake  to 
underrate  time.  A  great  many  curious  things  can 
happen  to  one  in  five  years." 

Katharine  was  not  in  search  of  unbelief,  nor  of 
encouragement  in  not  believing  that  human  nature 
could  really  feel.  Her  faith  in  it  had  been  terri 
bly  undermined  during  the  past  winter,  and  she 
had  just  been  with  two  persons,  Hester  Crowdie 
and  Paul  Griggs,  whose  behaviour  had  at  least 
tended  to  restore  it.  She  did  not  wish  the  recu 
perative  effort  of  her  charity  towards  mankind  to 
315 


316  THE  BALSTONS. 

be  checked.  So  she  did  not  argue  the  point,  but 
walked  on  in  silence. 

She  had  not  recovered,  and  could  not  recover  for 
many  days,  from  the  impression  produced  upon  her 
by  the  ghastly  scene  in  the  studio.  Her  young 
vitality  abhorred  death,  and  its  contrary  and  hostile 
principle,  and  when  she  thought  of  what  she  had 
seen,  she  felt  the  same  sickening,  shrinking  horror 
which  had  led  her  to  hold  back  her  skirt  from  any 
possible  contact  with  the  carpet  on  which  Crowdie's 
body  had  been  lying.  She  might  have  been  will 
ing  to  admit  that  her  mother,  who  had  seen  noth 
ing,  but  had  sat  downstairs  talking  with  the 
comfortable,  fat  and  refined  aunt  Maggie,  was 
not  called  upon  to  feel  what  she  herself  felt  after 
going  through  such  a  strange  experience.  But 
since  her  mother  felt  nothing,  her  mother  could 
not  understand ;  and  if  she  could  not  understand-  it 
was  better  to  walk  on  in  silence  and  to  make  her 
hasten  her  indolent,  graceful  steps. 

In  reality,  Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  much  more  pre 
occupied  about  the  possibilities  of  the  second  will 
turning  out  to  be  favourable  to  her  husband  or  the 
contrary,  and  her  preoccupation  was  not  at  all 
sordid,  though  it  was  by  no  means  unselfish.  She 
was  anxious  about  him,  in  her  unobtrusive,  calm 
way.  He  talked  of  money  in  his  sleep,  as  she 
had  told  Katharine,  and  he  was  growing  nervous. 
She  had  even  noticed  once  or  twice  of  late  that  his 


THE  RALSTONS.  317 

hand  shook  a  little  as  he  held  the  morning  paper  after 
breakfast,  during  the  ten  minutes  which  he  devoted 
to  its  perusal.  That  was  a  bad  sign,  she  thought, 
for  a  man  who  had  been  famous  for  his  good  nerve, 
and  who  had  been  known  all  his  life  as  an  unerring 
shot.  She  did  not  like  to  think  what  consequences 
a  great  disappointment  might  have  upon  his  tem 
per,  which  had  shown  itself  so  frequently  of  late, 
after  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  comparative 
quiescence.  Nor  was  it  pleasant  to  contemplate 
the  new  means  of  economy  which  he  would  cer 
tainly  introduce  into  his  household  if  by  any  evil 
chance  he  got  no  share  of  the  Lauderdale  fortune. 
But  that,  she  told  herself,  was  impossible,  as  indeed 
it  seemed  to  be. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  be  in  a  hurry,  she  told  Katha 
rine,  as  they  had  at  least  an  hour  to  get  rid  of 
before  the  time  at  which  Mr.  Allen  was  to  be 
expected.  The  Balstons  and  Hamilton  Bright 
would  only  come  a  few  minutes  earlier.  Every  one 
would  understand  how  unpleasant  it  might  be  to 
be  shut  up  together  in  such  suspense  for  half  an 
hour  before  the  truth  could  be  known  —  each  hop 
ing  to  get  the  other's  money,  as  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
observed  with  a  little  laugh  that  had  hardly  any 
cruelty  in  it.  But,  of  course,  nobody  would  be 
late  on  such  an  occasion.  There  was  no  fear  of 
that.  And  she  laughed  again,  and  stepped  grace 
fully  aside  on  the  pavement  to  let  a  boy  with  a  big 
bundle  go  by. 


318  THE  EALSTONS. 

She  had  not  been  deceived  in  her  calculations, 
for  there  was  still  plenty  of  time  to  spare  when  they 
reached  the  house  in  Clinton  Place.  Katharine 
disappeared  to  her  room,  glad  to  be  alone  at  last. 
There  was  a  hushed  expectation  in  the  air  of  the 
house,  which  reminded  her  of  the  place  she  had 
just  left,  but  she  herself  felt  not  the  smallest  inter 
est  in  the  will.  So  far  as  she  was  concerned,  she 
was  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  the  course  taken 
by  the  law,  independently  of  any  will  at  all. 

The  Kalstons  and  Hamilton  Bright  came  almost 
at  the  same  moment,  though  not  together,  and 
Katharine  had  no  chance  of  exchanging  a  word 
with  John  out  of  hearing  of  the  rest.  They  all 
met  in  the  library.  The  old  philanthropist  was 
there,  and  every  one  was  secretly  surprised  to  dis 
cover  what  a  very  fine-looking  old  man  he  was  in  a 
perfectly  new  frock  coat  with  a  great  deal  of  silk 
in  front.  But  his  heavy,  shapeless  shoes  betrayed 
his  lingering  attachment  to  the  little  Italian  shoe 
maker  in  South  Fifth  Avenue,  whose  conscien 
tiously  durable  works  promised  to  outlast  old 
Alexander's  need  for  them. 

Alexander  Junior  stood  before  the  empty  fire 
place,  coldly  nervous.  He  could  not  have  sat  still 
for  five  minutes  just  then.  When  he  spoke  of 
Crowdie's  death  to  Hamilton  Bright,  and  immedi 
ately  afterwards  of  the  weather,  his  steel-trap 
mouth  opened  and  closed  mechanically,  emitting 


THE  EALSTONS.  319 

metallic  sounds  —  it  could  not  be  called  speaking 
—  and  his  glittering  grey  eyes  went  restlessly 
from  the  window  to  the  door  and  back  again,  with 
out  even  resting  on  Bright's  face. 

Bright  himself  was  grave,  manly,  quiet,  as  he 
generally  was.  He  was  eminently  the  man  who 
could  be  reckoned  with  and  counted  upon.  He 
would  make  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  disappoint 
ment  if  he  were  disappointed,  nor  his  satisfaction 
if  he  were  pleased,  but  the  expression  of  either 
would  be  simple,  quiet  and  manly,  with  few  words, 
if  any. 

Mrs.  Ralston  watched  the  two  as  they  stood  side 
by  side.  From  her  position  on  the  sofa  she  could 
see  Alexander  Junior's  hands  twitching  nervously 
behind  him.  But  she  was  talking  with  Mrs.  Lau- 
derdale  at  the  same  time.  She  made  no  pretence 
of  being  very  sorry  to  hear  of  Crowdie's  sudden 
death.  She  rarely  saw  him  and  she  had  never 
liked  him.  To  her,  he  was  merely  the  husband 
of  a  very  distant  cousin  —  of  a  descendant  of  her 
great-grandfather  through  a  female  branch.  It 
was  too  much  to  expect  that  she  should  be  pro 
foundly  affected  by  what  had  happened.  But  her 
dark,  clearly  cut  features  were  grave,  and  there 
was  a  certain  expectancy  in  her  look,  which  showed 
that  she  was  not  really  indifferent  to  the  nature 
of  the  events  momentarily  expected.  She  admitted 
frankly  GO  herself  that  it  would  make  an  enormous 


320  THE  RALSTONS. 

difference  in  her  future  happiness  to  be  very  rich 
instead  of  being  almost  poor,  and  she  had  told  her 
son  so  as  they  came  to  the  house. 

John  was  trying  to  talk  to  Katharine  near  the 
window,  but  he  found  it  impossible  to  shake  off 
Alexander  Senior,  whose  fondness  for  his  favourite 
granddaughter  was  proverbial  in  the  family.  The 
old  gentleman  stood  by,  approvingly,  and  insisted 
upon  leading  the  conversation  which,  with  old- 
fashioned  grandfatherly  wit  —  or  what  passed  for 
wit  in  the  families  of  our  grandfathers  —  he  con 
stantly  directed  upon  the  subject  of  matrimony, 
with  an  elephantine  sprightliness  most  irritating  to 
John  Ralston,  though  Katharine  bore  it  with  in 
different  serenity,  and  smiled  when  the  old  man 
looked  at  her,  her  features  growing  grave  again  as 
soon  as  he  turned  to  John.  She  could  not  shake 
off  the  terrible  impression  she  had  brought  with 
her,  and  yet  she  longed  to  explain  to  John  why 
she  felt  and  looked  so  sad.  She,  also,  glanced  often 
at  the  door.  The  arrival  of  the  family  lawyer 
would  put  a  stop  to  her  grandfather's  playful  per 
secution  of  her,  and  give  her  a  chance  to  say  three- 
words  to  John  without  being  overheard. 

Ralston  stood  ready,  knowing  that  she  wished 
to  speak  to  him  alone,  and  he  paid  little  attention 
to  Alexander  Senior's  jokes.  He  glanced  about 
the  room  and  said  to  himself  that  the  members  of 
the  Lauderdale  tribe  were  a  very  good-looking  set, 


THE  RALSTONS.  321 

from  first  to  last.  He  was  proud  of  his  family 
just  then,  for  he  had  rarely  seen  so  many  of  them 
assembled  together  without  the  presence  of  any 
stranger,  and  he  was  most  proud  of  Katharine's 
beauty.  Pallor  was  becoming  to  her,  for  hers 
was  fresh  and  clear  and  youthful.  It  ruined  her 
mother's  looks  to  be  pale,  especially  of  late,  since 
the  imperceptible  lines  had  been  drawn  into  very 
fine  but  clearly  discernible  wrinkles.  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale  had  told  herself  with  tears  that  they  were 
really  wrinkles,  but  she  would  have  been  sorry  to 
know  that  John,  or  any  one  else,  called  them  by 
that  name. 

At  last  the  lawyer  came,  and  there  was  a  dead 
silence  as  he  entered  —  a  tall,  lantern-jawed  man, 
clean  shaven,  almost  bald,  with  prominent  yellow 
teeth,  over  which  his  mobile  lips  fitted  as  though 
they  had  been  made  of  shrivelled  pink  indiarubber. 
He  had  very  light  blue  eyes  and  bushy  brows  that 
stood  out  in  contrast  to  his  bald  scalp  and  beard 
less  face  like  a  few  shaggy  firs  that  have  survived 
the  destruction  of  a  forest. 

He  spoke  in  an  impressive  manner,  for  he  was 
deaf,  emphasizing  almost  every  word  in  every 
sentence.  He  was  a  New  Englander  by  birth,  as 
keen  and  provincial  in  New  York  as  ever  was  a 
Scotchman  in  London. 

Having  been  duly  welcomed,  and  provided  with 
a  seat  in  the  midst  of  the  assembled  tribe,  he 

VOL.    II. 21 


322  THE   K  ALSTONS. 

leisurely  produced  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  glasses 
and  a  handkerchief,  and  proceeded  to  the  operation 
of  polishing  the  one  with  the  other.  He  was 
provokingly  slow.  His  chair  was  placed  so  that 
he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  window,  facing  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  and  Mrs.  Ralston,  who  occupied  the 
sofa  011  the  right  of  the  fireplace.  The  two 
Alexanders  and  Bright  completed  the  circle,  while 
Katharine  and  John  placed  themselves  behind  the 
lawyer.  John  could  see  over  his  shoulder. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  while  Mr.  Allen  made 
his  careful  preparations.  It  could  hardly  be  sup 
posed  that  he  had  any  traditional  remnant  of  the 
old-fashioned  attorney's  vanity,  which  made  him 
anxious  to  produce  an  effect  by  taking  as  long  as 
possible  in  settling  himself  to  his  work.  He  was 
simply  a  leisurely  man,  who  had  been  born  before 
the  days  of  hurry,  and  was  living  to  see  hurry 
considered  as  an  obsolete  affectation,  no  longer 
necessary,  and  no  longer  the  fashion.  There  is 
haste  in  some  things,  still,  in  New  York,  but  not 
the  haste  that  we  of  the  generation  in  middle  age 
remember  when  we  were  young  men.  Mr.  Allen, 
however,  had  never  been  hasty ;  and  he  found 
himself  fashionable  in  his  old  age,  as  he  had  been 
in  his  youth,  long  before  the  civil  war. 

When  his  glasses  were  fairly  pinching  the  lower 
part  of  his  thin  grey  nose,  he  thrust  one  bony  hand 
into  his  breast-pocket,  leaning  forward  as  he  did 


THE  R  ALSTONS.  323 

so,  and  quietly  scanning  the  faces  of  his  audience, 
one  after  the  other.  He  was  so  very  slow  that 
John  and  Katharine  looked  at  one  another  and 
smiled.  From  his  pocket  he  brought  out  a  great 
bundle  of  papers  and  letters,  and  calmly  pro 
ceeded  to  look  through  them  from  the  beginning, 
in  search  of  what  he  wanted.  Of  course,  the  big 
blue  envelope  was  the  last  of  a  number  of  big  blue 
envelopes,  and  the  last  but  one  of  all  the  papers. 

"This  is  it,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  with 
dignity  and  caution. 

The  two  elder  women  drew  two  short  little 
breaths  of  expectation,  sat  forward  a  little,  and 
then  thoughtfully  smoothed  their  frocks  over  their 
knees.  Alexander  Junior's  knuckles  cracked  au 
dibly,  as  he  silently  twined  his  lingers  round  one 
another,  and  pulled  at  them  in  his  anxiety.  Ham 
ilton  Bright  uncrossed  his  legs,  and  recrossed  them 
in  the  opposite  way.  Katharine  sighed.  She  was 
tired  of  it  all,  before  it  had  begun. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  with  even  more  dignity, 
but  with  less  caution  in  making  the  assertion,  "  I 
believe  this  is  it." 

"  Thank  the  Lord ! "  exclaimed  John  Ralston 
from  behind  the  lawyer,  who  was  deaf. 

Mrs.  Ralston  smiled  a  little,  and  avoided  her 
son's  eyes.  Hamilton  Bright  looked  absolutely 
impassive. 

"You  all  see  what  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Allen.     "It 


324  THE  RALSTONS. 

is  a  large  blue  envelope,  gummed  without  a  seal, 
marked  'Will,'  in  a  handwriting  which  may  be 
that  of  the  late  Mr.  Lauderdale,  though  I  should 
not  be  prepared  to  swear  to  it,  and  dated  '  March ' 
of  this  year.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  it 
contains  a  will  made  in  that  month,  and  therefore 
prior  to  the  one  of  which  we  have  knowledge. 
Mr.  Lauderdale  "  —  he  turned  to  Alexander  Senior 
—  "and  you,  Mrs.  Ralston  —  with  your  consent,  I 
will  open  this  document  in  your  presence." 

"  By  all  means  —  open  it,"  said  Alexander 
Junior,  with  evident  impatience. 

"Certainly,  certainly,  Mr.  Allen,"  said  his  father. 
"That's  what  we  expect." 

Mrs.  Ralston  contented  herself  with  nodding 
her  assent,  when  the  lawyer  looked  at  her.  He 
searched  for  a  penknife  in  his  pocket,  found  it, 
opened  it,  and  with  infinite  care  slit  the  envelope 
from  end  to  end.  After  carefully  shutting  the 
knife,  and  returning  it  to  his  pocket  again,  he 
withdrew  a  thick,  folded  sheet  of  heavy  foolscap. 
As  he  did  so,  a  smaller  piece  of  paper,  folded  only 
once,  fluttered  to  the  ground  at  his  feet.  It  might 
have  been  a  note  of  old  Robert  Lauderdale's,  ex 
pressing  some  particular  last  wish  of  such  a  nature 
as  not  to  have  found  its  proper  place  in  a  docu 
ment  of  such  importance  as  the  will  itself.  The 
eyes  of  every  one  being  intent  upon  the  latter,  as 
Mr.  Allen  opened  it,  no  one  paid  any  attention 
to  the  bit  of  paper. 


THE  EALSTONS.  32f) 

Mr.  Allen  was  old  and  formal,  and  he  had  no 
intention  of  bestowing  a  preliminary  glance  at  the 
contents  of  the  paper  before  reading  it.  He  began 
at  the  beginning,  for  the  first  words  proved  it  to 
be  a  will,  and  nothing  else.  It  began,  as  many 
American  wills  do,  with  the  words,  "  In  the  name 
of  God.  Amen."  Then  followed  the  clause  re 
voking  all  previous  wills,  each  and  every  one  of 
them ;  and  then  the  other,  relating  to  the  payment 
of  just  debts  and  funeral  expenses.  Then  Mr. 
Allen  paused,  and  drew  breath. 

The  tension  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  was 
high,  at  that  moment  of  supreme  anxiety. 

" l  It  is  my  purpose,' "  Mr.  Allen  read,  "  *  to  so 
distribute  the  wealth  which  has  accumulated  in 
my  hands  as  to  distribute  it  amongst  those  of  my 
fellow  creatures  who  stand  most  directly  in  need 
of  such  help  — ' ' 

There  was  a  general  movement  in  the  circle. 
Everybody  started.  Alexander  Junior's  hands 
dropped  by  his  sides,  and  his  steel-trap  mouth 
relaxed  and  opened. 

"  Go  on  !  "  he  said,  breathlessly. 

Mr.  Allen  went  on,  shaking  his  head  from  time 
to  time,  as  his  only  expression  of  overwhelming 
stupefaction.  It  was  by  far  the  most  extraor 
dinary  will  he  had  ever  seen;  but  it  was  legally 
and  properly  worded,  with  endlessly  long,  un- 
punctuated  sentences,  all  of  which  tended  to  eluci- 


326  THE  RALSTONS. 

date  the  already  sufficiently  clear  meaning.  In 
half-a-dozen  words,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the 
will  constituted  the  whole  fortune,  without  lega 
cies,  and  without  mention  of  heirs  or  relatives, 
into  a  gigantic  trust,  to  be  managed,  for  the  final 
extinction  of  poverty  in  the  city  of  New  York,  by 
a  board  of  trustees,  to  exist  in  perpetuity.  Many 
conditions  were  imposed,  and  many  possible  cases 
foreseen.  There  were  elaborate  rules  for  filling 
vacancies  in  the  trusteeship,  and  many  other 
clauses  necessary  for  the  administration  of  such  a 
vast  charitable  foundation,  all  carefully  thought 
out  and  clearly  stated.  The  perspiration  stood 
upon  the  old  lawyer's  astonished  head,  as  he  con 
tinued  to  read. 

Alexander  Junior  seemed  to  be  absolutely  para 
lyzed,  and  stared  like  a  man  distracted,  who  sees 
nothing,  with  wide-open  eyes.  Even  Mrs.  Ralston 
bent  her  dark  brows,  and  bit  her  even  lips,  in  dis 
appointment.  Hamilton  Bright  bent  down,  leaning 
his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  looked  at  the  fourth 
page  of  the  vast  sheet  of  closely  written  foolscap. 

"  We're  a  pack  of  fools  ! "  he  exclaimed,  sud 
denly.  "  The  will  isn't  signed." 

Alexander  Junior  uttered  a  loud  exclamation, 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  snatched  the  will  from  the 
lawyer's  hand  so  roughly  as  to  brush  the  gold- 
rimmed  glasses  from  his  thin  nose,  on  which  they 
had  pinched  their  unsteady  hold,  and  they  fell  to 
the  ground. 


THE  EALSTONS.  327 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  "  he  asked,  very  much  disturbed 
by  such  rude  interruption. 

Alexander  had  turned  to  the  end,  and  had  seen 
that  it  was  a  blank,  without  signatures  either  of 
testator  or  witnesses. 

"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed,  fervently,  as  he 
dropped  back  into  his  chair.  "That  almost  killed 
me,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice,  regardless  of  the 
others. 

But  no  one  paid  much  attention  to  him.  Ham 
ilton  Bright  remained  impassive.  Each  of  the 
others  uttered  an  exclamation,  or  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief.  For  some  minutes  afterwards  there  was 
a  dead  silence. 

Mr.  Allen  was  fumbling  on  the  floor  for  his  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  still  very  much  confused.  They 
had  managed  to  get  under  the  low  chair  in  which 
he  sat,  and  which  had  a  long  fringe  on  it,  reaching 
almost  to  the  ground,  so  that  he  took  some  time  in 
finding  them. 

"  Of  course  he  would  never  have  signed  such  a 
thing ! "  said  Hamilton  Bright,  with  emphasis. 
"  He  had  too  much  sense." 

"  I  should  think  so ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale.  "  The  only  thing  I  can't  understand  is  how 
it  ever  was  kept  and  marked  l  Will/  " 

"  Uncle  Robert  once  told  me  that  he  had  often 
made  sketches  of  wills  leaving  all  his  money  in 
trust  to  the  poor,"  said  Katharine.  "He  never 


328  THE  R ALSTONS. 

meant  to  sign  one,  though.  This  must  be  one  of 
them  —  of  course  —  it  can't  be  anything  else  !  " 

"His  secretary  probably  put  it  away,  supposing 
he  wanted  to  keep  it,"  said  Ralston,  from  behind 
Mr.  Allen.  "  Then  he  forgot  all  about  it,  and  so  it 
turned  up  among  the  papers.  It's  simple  enough." 

"  Oh,  quite  simple  ! "  assented  Alexander  Junior, 
with  a  half-hysterical  laugh. 

Mrs.  Ralston  was  watching  the  lawyer  as  he  felt 
for  his  glasses  on  the  carpet.  He  paused,  wiped 
his  brow  —  for  it  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and  he 
had  been  nervously  excited  himself  in  reading  the 
document.  Then  he  continued  his  search. 

"  There's  a  bit  of  paper  there  on  the  floor,  beside 
your  hand,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston.  "  I  saw  it  drop 
when  you  opened  the  envelope.  Perhaps  it's  some 
thing  more  important." 

Mr.  Allen  recovered  his  glasses  at  that  moment, 
and  with  the  other  hand  took  up  the  little  folded 
sheet.  With  the  utmost  care  and  precision  he 
went  through  the  same  preparations  for  reading 
which  had  been  indispensable  on  the  first  occasion. 

"  Let  us  see,  let  us  see,"  he  said.  "  This  is 
something.  <  I  hereby  certify/  —  oh,  an  old  mar 
riage  certificate  of  yours,  Mrs.  Ralston.  John 
Ralston  and  Katharine  Lauderdale  —  married  — 
dear  me !  I  don't  understand !  This  year,  too  ! 
This  is  very  strange." 

Again  every  one  present  started,  but  with  very 


THE  RALSTONS.  329 

different  expressions.  Hamilton  Bright  grew 
slowly  red.  There  was  a  short  pause.  Then  John 
Ealston  rose  to  his  feet  and  bent  over  Mr.  Allen's 
shoulder. 

"  It's  our  certificate,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Katha 
rine's  and  mine.  We  were  married  last  winter." 

And  he  took  the  paper  from  the  hands,  of  the 
wondering  lawyer,  and  held  it  in  his  own. 

"Katharine!"  cried  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  when  she 
had  realized  the  meaning  of  Ralston's  words. 

"  Katharine  !  "  cried  Alexander  Junior,  almost 
at  the  same  moment. 

At  any  other  time  some  one  of  all  those  present 
might  have  smiled  at  the  difference  in  intona 
tion  between  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  cry  of  unmixed 
astonishment,  and  her  husband's  deprecatory  but 
forgiving  utterance  of  his  daughter's  name.  Both 
conveyed,  in  widely  differing  ways,  as  much  as 
whole  phrases  could  have  told,  namely,  that  Mrs. 
Lauderdale  was  sincerely  pleased,  in  spite  of  all 
her  former  opposition  to  the  marriage,  and  that  her 
husband,  while  he  would  much  rather  have  his 
daughter  married  to  Ralston  secretly  than  not  at 
all,  felt  that  his  dignity  and  parental  authority 
had  been  outraged,  and  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
have  an  apology,  if  any  were  to  be  had,  of  which 
condition  his  voice  also  expressed  a  doubt. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  from  the  beginning," 
said  John  Ralston. 


330  THE  EALSTONS. 

He  told  the  story  in  as  few  words  as  he  could, 
omitting,  as  he  had  done  in.  telling  his  mother,  to 
give  Katharine  her  fnll  share  of  responsibility. 
She  bent  far  forward  in  her  seat  while  he  was 
speaking,  and  leaned  npon  the  back  of  Mr.  Allen's 
chair,  never  taking  her  eyes  from  her  husband's 
face.  More  than  once  her  eyes  brightened  with 
a  sort  of  affectionate  indignation,  and  her  lips 
parted  as  though  she  would  speak.  But  she  did 
not  interrupt  him.  When  he  had  finished  he  stood 
still  in  his  place,  looking  at  his  father-in-law,  and 
still  holding  the  certificate  of  his  marriage  in  his 
hand. 

Alexander  Junior  would  have  found  it  hard  to 
be  angry  just  at  that  moment.  He  had  his  desire. 
In  the  course  of  five  minutes  he  had  been  cast 
down  from  a  position  of  enormous  wealth  and 
power,  since  there  could  be  no  question  but  that 
the  half  of  the  great  estate  would  really  be  in  his 
control  if  there  were  no  will ;  he  had  been  plunged 
into  such  a  depth  of  despair  as  only  the  real  miser 
can  understand  when  his  hundreds  or  his  millions, 
as  the  case  may  be,  are  swept  out  of  sight  and  out 
of  reach  by  a  breath  ;  and  he  had  been  restored  to 
the  pinnacle  of  happiness  again,  almost  before 
there  had  been  time  to  make  his  suffering  seem 
more  than  the  passing  vision  of  a  hideous  dream. 
Moreover,  the  marriage  being  already  accomplished 
and  a  matter  of  fact,  made  it  a  positive  certainty 


THE  RALSTONS.  331 

that  all  that  part  of  the  fortune  which  belonged  to 
the  Ralstons  would  return  to  his  own  grandchil 
dren.  His  outraged  sense  of  parental  importance 
was  virtuously,  but  silently,  indignant,  and  he 
admitted  that,  on  the  whole,  the  causes  of  satisfac 
tion  outnumbered  any  reasons  there  might  be  for 
displeasure.  Something,  however,  must  be  done  to 
propitiate  the  prejudices  of  the  world,  which  had 
much  force  with  him. 

u  I  think  we'd  better  all  go  into  the  country  as 
soon  as  possible,"  he  observed,  thinking  aloud. 

But  no  one  heard  him,  for  Katharine  had  risen 
and  come  forward  and  stood  beside  her  husband, 
slipping  her  arm  through  his,  and  invisibly  press 
ing  him  to  her  —  unconsciously,  too,  perhaps  — 
whenever  she  wished  to  emphasize  a  word  in  what 
she  said. 

"  I  want  to  say  something,"  she  began,  raising 
her  voice.  "It's  all  my  fault,  you  know.  I  did  it. 
I  persuaded  Jack  one  evening,  here  in  this  very 
room — and  it  was  awfully  hard  to  persuade  him, 
I  assure  you !  He  didn't  like  it  in  the  least.  He 
said  it  wasn't  a  perfectly  fair  and  honest  thing  to 
do.  But  I  made  him  see  it  differently.  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  was  right.  You  see,  we  should  have 
been  married,  anyway,  as  it's  turned  out,  because 
papa's  been  so  nice  about  it  in  the  end.  That's  all 
I  wanted  to  say." 

There  was  probably  no  malice  in  her  diplomatic 


332  THE  RALSTONS. 

allusion  to  her  father.  The  only  person  who 
smiled  at  it  was  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"  Except,"  added  Katharine,  by  an  afterthought, 
"that  the  reason  why  we  did  it  was  because  we 
wanted  to  be  sure  of  getting  each  other  in  the  end." 

"Well,"  said  Hamilton  Bright,  who  was  very 
red,  "  I  suppose  the  next  thing  to  do  is  to  congrat 
ulate  you,  isn't  it  ?  Here  goes.  Jack,  I'm  sorry 
I  slated  secret  marriages  the  other  day.  You  see, 
one  doesn't  always  know." 

"No,"  observed  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  who  had  her 
arms  around  her  daughter's  neck.  "  One  doesn't 
—  as  Ham  says." 

"That's  all  right,  Ham,"  said  John  Ralston. 
"I  didn't  mind  a  bit." 

But  Hamilton  Bright  minded  very  much,  in  his 
quiet  way,  for  he  had  played  a  losing  game  of  late, 
and  the  same  hour  had  deprived  him  of  all  hope 
of  marrying  Katharine,  faint  as  it  had  been  since 
she  had  so  definitely  refused  him,  and  of  all  pros 
pect  of  ever  getting  a  share  of  the  Lauderdale 
fortune.  But  he  was  a  very  brave  man,  and  better 
able  than  most  of  those  present  to  bear  such  mis 
fortunes  as  fell  to  his  lot.  As  for  marrying,  he 
put  it  out  of  his  thoughts ;  and  so  far  as  fortune 
was  concerned,  he  was  prosperous  and  successful  in 
all  that  he  undertook  to  do  himself,  unaided,  which 
is,  after  all,  the  most  satisfactory  success  a  man 
can  have  in  the  long  run.  The  right  to  say  '  I  did 


THE  EALSTONS.  333 

it  alone'  compensates  for  many  fancied  and  real 
wrongs.  And  that  was  something  which  Hamilton 
Bright  had  very  often  been  able  to  say  with  truth. 
But  his  love  for  Katharine  Lauderdale  had  been 
honest,  enduring  and  generally  silent.  Never  had 
he  spoken  to  her  of  love  until  he  had  fancied  that 
his  friend  John  Ralston  had  no  intention,  nor  she, 
either,  of  anything  serious. 

It  was  with  the  consent  and  approval  of  all  her 
family  that  Katharine  entered  upon  her  married 
life  at  last,  after  having  been  secretly  and  in  name 
the  wedded  wife  of  John  Ralston  for  more  than  five 
months.  The  world  thought  it  not  extraordinary 
that  there  should  be  no  public  ceremony,  consider 
ing  the  recent  decease  of  Robert  Lauderdale  and 
the  shockingly  sudden  death  of  Walter  Crowdie. 
The  Lauderdales,  said  the  world,  had  shown  good 
taste,  for  many  reasons,  in  having  a  private  wed 
ding.  Having  always  lived  quietly,  it  would  have 
been  unbecoming  in  them  to  invite  society  to  a 
marriage  of  royal  splendour,  when  he  who  had  left 
them  their  twealth  had  not  been  dead  two  months. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  union  of  forty  millions 
with  twenty  could  hardly  have  been  decently  ac 
complished  by  means  of  two  carriages  from  the 
livery  stable  and  a  man  from  the  greengrocer's. 
The  world,  therefore,  said  that  the  Lauderdales 
and  the  Ralstons  had  done  perfectly  right,  a  fact 
which  pleased  some  members  of  the  tribe  and  was 


334  THE  EALSTONS. 

indifferent  to  others.  The  only  connections  who 
were  heard  to  complain  at  all  were  the  three  Miss 
Miners,  whose  old-maidenly  souls  delighted  in 
weddings  and  found  refreshment  in  funerals. 

And  the  only  person  whom  Katharine  missed, 
and  cared  to  miss,  amongst  all  those  who  congrat 
ulated  her  was  Paul  Griggs.  She  did  not  see  him, 
after  they  had  met  011  the  stairs  of  the  house  in 
Lafayette  Place,  for  a  long  time.  During  the 
summer  which  followed  the  announcement  of  her 
marriage,  she  heard  that  he  was  in  the  East  again 
—  a  vague  term  applied  to  Cairo,  Constantinople 
and  Calcutta.  At  all  events,  he  was  not  in  New 
York,  but  had  taken  his  weary  eyes  and  weather- 
beaten  face  to  some  remote  region  of  the  earth, 
and  gave  no  further  sign  of  life  for  some  time, 
though  a  book  which  he  had  written  before 
Crowdie's  death  appeared  soon  after  his  departure. 
Katharine  received  one  letter  from  him  during  the 
summer  —  a  rather  formal  letter  of  congratulation 
upon  her  marriage,  and  bearing  a  postmark  in 
Cyrillic  characters,  though  the  stamp  was  not 
Russian,  but  one  she  had  never  seen. 


Here  ends  an  act  of  Katharine's  life-comedy, 
and  the  chronicler  leaves  her  with  her  beauty,  her 
virtues  and  her  imperfections  to  the  judgment  of 
that  one  reader,  if  perchance  there  be  even  one, 


THE   RALSTON 8.  335 

who  has  had  the  patience  to  follow  her  so  far, 
with  little  entertainment  and  no  advantage  to 
himself.  And  to  that  one  reader  —  an  ideal  crea 
tion  of  the  chronicler's  mind,  having  no  founda 
tion  in  his  experience  of  humanity  —  the  said 
chronicler  makes  apology  for  all  that  has  been 
amiss  in  the  telling  of  the  events  recorded,  con 
scious  that  a  better  man  could  have  done  it  better, 
and  that  better  men  are  plentiful,  but  stout  in  as 
serting  that  the  events  were  not,  in  themselves  and 
in  reality,  without  interest,  however  poorly  they 
have  been  narrated. 

Moral,  there  is  none,  nor  purpose,  save  to  please ; 
and  if  any  one  be  pleased,  the  writer  has  his  reward. 
But  besides  moral  and  purpose  in  things  done  with 
ink  and  paper,  there  is  consequence  to  be  consid 
ered,  or  at  least  to  be  taken  into  account.  In  real 
life  we  take  more  thought  of  that  than  of  anything 
else ;  for,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  man  hardly 
performs  any  action,  however  insignificant,  without 
.intention  —  and  intention  is  the  hope  of  conse 
quence. 

All  that  happened  to  Katharine  Lauderdale,  and 
all  that  she  caused  to  happen  by  her  own  will,  had 
an  effect  upon  her  existence  afterwards.  She  was 
entering  upon  married  life  with  a  much  more 
varied  experience  than  most  young  women  of  her 
age.  She  had  been  brought  into  direct  and  close 
relation  with  people  influenced  by  some  of  the 


336  THE  BALSTONS. 

strongest  passions  that  can  rouse  the  heart.  She 
had  been  hated  by  those  who  had  loved  her,  and 
for  little  or  no  fault  of  hers.  She  had  seen  envy 
standing  in  the  high  place  of  a  mother's  love,  and 
she  had  seen  the  friendship  of  her  girlhood  de 
stroyed  by  unreasoning  jealousy.  Above  all,  she 
had  known  the  base  hardness  and  the  revolting 
cruelty  which  the  love  of  money  could  implant  in 
an  otherwise  upright  nature.  The  persons  with 
whom  she  had  to  do  were  not  of  the  kind  to  commit 
crimes,  but  in  her  view  there  was  something  worse, 
if  possible,  than  crime  in  some  of  the  things  they 
had  done. 

So  much  for  the  evil  by  which  she  had  passed. 
For  the  good,  she  had  love,  good  love,  pure  love, 
honest  love  —  the  sort  of  love  that  may  last  a  life 
time.  And  if  love  can  weather  life  it  need  not 
fear  the  whirlpool  of  death,  nor  the  quicksands  of 
the  uncertain  shore  beyond.  It  is  life  that  kills 
love  —  not  death. 

Therefore,  as  the  chronicler  closes  his  book  and 
offers  it  to  his  single  long-suffering  reader,  he  says 
that  more  remains  to  be  told  of  Katharine  and  of 
the  men  and  women  among  whom  she  lived; 
namely,  the  consequences  of  her  girlhood  in  her 
married  life. 


THE    END. 


KATHARINE  LAUDERDALE. 

By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  SARACINESCA,"  "  PIETRO   GHISLERI,"  ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Two  Volumes,  Bound  in  Polished  Buckram,  in  Box,  8&/J.OO. 


The  first  of  a  series  of  novels  dealing  with  New  York  life. 

"  Katharine  Lauderdale  is  essentially  a  dramatic  novel,  possessing  the 
unity  of  time  and  place  and  of  action.  ...  It  is  a  love  story,  pure  and  sim 
ple,  with  no  straining  after  the  moral  that  Mr.  Crawford  so  denounces.  .  .  . 
Katharine  Laiiderdnif  is  a  thoroughly  artistic  novel.  The  characters  are 
boldly  drawn  ;  even  tho>c  <,f  minor  importance  are  vivid  and  real."  —  Louis 
ville  Evening  Post. 

"  While  it  is  a  love  story,  it  is  much  more.  It  is  an  accurate  picture  of 
certain  circles  of  New  York  society  to-day,  and  in  the  analyses  of  character 
and  motive  Mr.  Crawford  has  done  nothing  better  than  this  book  gives 
us.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crawford  is  always  happy  in  his  sense  of  locality,  and  the 
familiar  scenes  of  Washington  Park,  Clinton  Place,  and  Lafayette  Place  are 
brought  distinctly  before  the  reader."  —  Living  Church. 

"  It  is  exceedingly  interesting."  —  Congregationalist. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  at  his  best  is  a  great  novelist,  and  in  Katharine  Lauder- 
dale  we  have  him  at  his  best." — -  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"A  most  admirable  novel,  excellent  in  style,  flashing  with  humor,  and 
full  of  the  ripest  and  wisest  reflections  upon  men  and  women."  —  The  West 
minster  Gazette. 

"  It  is  the  first  time,  we  think,  in  American  fiction  that  any  such  breadth 
of  view  has  shown  itself  in  the  study  of  our  social  framework."  —  Life. 

"  Admirable  in  its  simple  pathos,  its  enforced  humor,  and,  above  all,  in 
its  truths  to  human  nature.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  tedious  page  or  paragraph 
in  it."  —  Punch. 

"  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  story  is  skilfully  and  picturesquely 
written,  portraying  sharply  individual  characters  in  well-defined  surround 
ings." —  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  Katharine  Lauderdale  is  a  tale  of  New  York,  and  is  up  to  the  highest 
level  of  his  work.  In  some  respects  it  will  probably  be  regarded  as  his  best. 
None  of  his  works,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Isaacs,  show  so  clearly  his 
skill  as  a  literary  artist."  —  San  Francisco  Evening  Bulletin. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY, 

66   FIFTH    AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 


F.  Marion  Crawford's  Novels. 

NEW  UNIFORM  EDITION. 


12mo.     Cloth.     Sl.OO  each. 


SARACINESCA. 


"  The  work  has  two  distinct  merits,  either  of  which  would  serve  to  make 
it  great,  —  that  of  telling  a  perfect  story  in  a  perfect  way,  and  of  giving  a 
graphic  picture  of  Roman  society  in  the  last  days  of  the  Pope's  temporal 
power.  .  .  .  The  story  is  exquisitely  told."  —  Boston  Traveller. 

SANT9  ILARIO. 

A  Sequel  to  SARACINESCA. 

"  A  singularly  powerful  and  beautiful  story.  ...  It  fulfils  every  require 
ment  of  artistic  fiction.  It  brings  out  what  is  most  impressive  in  human 
action,  without  owing  any  of  its  effectiveness  to  sensationalism  or  artifice. 
It  is  natural,  fluent  in  evolution,  accordant  with  experience,  graphic  in 
description,  penetrating  in  analysis,  and  absorbing  in  interest."  —  New  York 
Tribune. 

DON  ORSINO. 

A  Sequel  to  SAItACTNESCA  and  SANT'  IT.  AUTO. 

"  Perhaps  the  cleverest  novel  of  the  year.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  Hull  para 
graph  in  the  book,  and  the  reader  may  be  assured  that  once  begun,  the  story 
of  Don  Orsino  will  fascinate  him  until  its  close."  —  The  Critic. 

PIETRO  CHISLERI. 

"  The  imaginative  richness,  the  marvellous  ingenu  ty  of  plot,  the  power 
and  subtlety  of  the  portrayal  of  character,  the  charm  of  the  romantic  envi 
ronment,  —  the  entire  atmosphere,  indeed,  —  rank  this  novel  at  once  among 
the  grent  creations."  —  The  Boston  Budget. 

A  TALE  OF  A  LONELY  PARISH. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  anything  so  perfect  of  its  kind  as  this  brief  and 
vivid  story.  ...  It  is  doubly  a  success,  being  full  of  human  sympathy,  as 
well  as  thoroughly  artistic  in  its  nice  balancing  of  the  unusual  with  the  com 
monplace,  the  clever  juxtaposition  of  innocence  and  guilt,  comedy  and 
tragedy,  simplicity  and  intrigue."  —  Critic. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY, 

66    FIFTH   AVENUE    NEW    YORK. 


MR.  ISAACS. 

A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

"  Under  an  unpretentious  title  we  have  here  the  most  brilliant  novel,  or 
rather  romance,  that  has  been  given  to  the  world  for  a  very  long  time."  — 
Tlic  American. 

DR.  CLAUDIUS. 

A  True  Story. 

"  It  by  no  means  belies  the  promises  of  its  predecessor.  The  story,  an 
exceedingly  improbable  and  romantic  one,  is  told  with  much  skill  ;  the 
characters  are  strongly  marked  without  any  suspicion  of  caricature,  and  the 
ai'tnor's  ideas  on  social  and  political  subjects  are  often  brilliant  and  always 
striking.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
book,  which  is  peculiarly  adapted  for  the  recreation  of  student  or  thinker." 

—  Living  Church. 

TO  LEEWARD. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  power." —  The  Review  of  Reviews. 

"  The  four  characters  with  whose  fortunes  this  novel  deals,  are,  perhaps, 
the  most  brilliantly  executed  portraits  in  the  whole  of  Mr.  Crawford's  long 
picture  gallery,  while  for  subtle  insight  into  the  springs  of  human  passion 
and  for  swift  dramatic  action  none  of  the  novels  surpasses  this  one." —  The 
News  and  Courier. 

THE  THREE   FATES. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities  as  a  student  of 
human  nature  and  his  finest  resources  as  a  master  of  an  original  and  pictur 
esque  style  to  bear  upon  this  story.  Taken  for  nil  in  nil  it  is  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  of  all  his  productions  in  fiction,  and  it  affords  a  view  of  certain 
phases  of  American,  or  perhaps  we  should  say  of  New  York,  life  that  have 
not  hitherto  been  treated  with  anything  like  the  same  adequacy  and  felicity." 

—  Boston  Beacon. 

A  CIGARETTE-MAKER'S  ROMANCE. 

"  The  interest  is  unflagging  throughout.  Never  has  Mr.  Crawford  done 
more  brilliant  realistic  work  than  here.  But  his  realism  is  only  the  case  and 
cover  for  those  intense  feelings  which,  placed  under  no  matter  what  humble 
conditions,  produce  tht  most  dramatic  and  the  most  tragic  situations.  .  .  . 
This  is  a  secret  of  genius,  to  take  the  most  coarse  and  common  material,  the 
meanest  surroundings,  the  most  sordid  material  prospects,  and  out  of  the 
vehement  passions  which  sometimes  dominate  all  human  beings  to  build  up 
with  these  poor  elements,  scenes,  and  passages,  the  dramatic  and  emotional 
power  of  which  at  once  enforce  attention  and  awaken  the  profoundest  inter 
est." —  New  York  Tribune. 

AN  AMERICAN  POLITICIAN. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY, 

66    FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW"   YORK. 


THE  WITCH  OF  PRAGUE. 

A  Fantastic  Tale. 

Illustrated  by  \V.  J.  HENNESSY. 

"  The  artistic  skill  with  which  this  extraordinary  story  is  constructed 
and  carried  out  is  admirable  and  delightful.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crawford  has  scored 
a  decided  triumph,  for  the  interest  of  the  talc  is  sustained  throughout.  .  .  . 
A  very  remarkable,  powerful,  and  interesting  story."  —  .Vetv  York  Tribune. 

CREIFENSTEIN. 

"...  Another  notable  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  day.  It  pos 
sesses  originality  in  its  conception  and  is  a  work  of  unusual  ability.  Its 
interest  is  sustained  to  the  close,  and  it  is  an  advance  even  on  the  previous 
work  of  this  talented  author.  Like  all  Mr.  Crawford's  work  this  novel  is 
crisp,  clear,  and  vigorous,  and  will  be  read  with  a  great  deal  of  interest."  — 
New  York  Evening  Telegram. 

WITH  THE  IMMORTALS. 

"  The  strange  central  idea  of  the  story  could  have  occurred  only  to  a 
writer  whose  mind  was  very  sensitive  to  the  current  of  modern  thought  and 
progress,  while  its  execution,  the  setting  it  forth  in  proper  literary  clothing, 
could  be  successfully  attempted  only  by  one  whose  active  litenry  ability 
should  be  fully  equalled  by  his  power  of  assimilative  knowledge  both  literary 
and  scientific,  and  no  less  by  his  courage  and  capacity  for  hard  work.  The 
book  will  be  found  to  have  a  fascination  entirely  new  for  the  habitual  reader 
of  novels.  Indeed,  Mr.  Crawford  has  succeeded  in  taking  his  readers  quite 
above  the  ordinary  plane  of  novel  interest."  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

ZOROASTER. 

"  It  is  a  drama  in  the  force  of  its  situations  and  in  the  poetry  and  dignity 
of  its  language;  but  its  men  and  women  are  not  men  and  women  of  a  play. 
By  the  naturalness  of  their  conversation  and  behavior  they  seem  to  live  and 
lay  hold  of  our  human  sympathy  more  than  the  same  characters  on  a  stage 
could  possibly  do."  —  The  New  York  Times. 

A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  One  of  the  earliest  and  best  works  of  this  famous  novelist.  .  .  .  None 
but  a  genuine  artist  could  have  made  so  true  a  picture  of  human  life,  crossed 
by  human  passions  and  interwoven  with  human  weakness.  It  is  a  perfect 
specimen  of  literary  art." —  The  Newark  Advertiser. 

PAUL  PATOFF. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,  NEW   YORK. 


KHALED. 

A  Story  of  Arabia. 

"  Throughout  the  fascinating  story  runs  the  subtlest  analysis,  suggested 
rather  than  elaborately  worked  out,  of  human  passion  and  motive,  the  building 
out  and  development  of  the  character  of  the  woman  who  becomes  the  hero's 
wife  and  whose  love  he  finally  wins  being  an  especially  acute  and  highly 
finished  example  of  the  story-teller's  art.  .  .  .  That  it  is  beautifully  written 
and  holds  the  interest  of  the  reader,  fanciful  as  it  all  is,  to  the  very  end,  none 
who  know  the  depth  and  artistic  finish  of  Mr.  Crawford's  work  need  be 
told."  —  The  Chicago  Times. 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  KING. 

"  One  of  the  most  artistic  and  exqui.sitely  finished  pieces  of  work  that 
Crawford  has  produced.  The  picturesque  setting,  Calabria  and  its  surround 
ings,  the  beautiful  Sorrento  and  the  Gulf  of  Salermo,  with  the  bewitching 
accessories  that  climate,  sea,  and  sky  afford,  give  Air.  Crawford  rich  oppor 
tunities  to  show  his  rare  descriptive  powers.  As  a  whole  the  book  is  strong 
and  beautiiul  through  its  simplicity,  and  ranks  among  the  choicest  of  the 
author's  many  fine  productions."  —  1'nblic  Opinion. 

MARZiO'S  CRUCIFIX. 

"This  work  belongs  to  the  highest  depaitment  of  character-painting  in 
words." —  The  Churchman. 

"  We  have  repeatedly  had  occasion  to  say  that  Mr.  Crawford  possesses 
in  an  extraordinary  degree  the  art  of  constructing  a  story.  His  sense  of 
proportion  is  just,  and  his  narrative  flows  along  with  ease  and  perspicuity. 
It  is  as  if  it  could  not  have  been  written  otherwise,  so  naturally  does  the 
story  unfold  itself,  and  so  logical  and  consistent  is  the  sequence  of  incident 
after  incident.  As  a  story  Marzio  's  Crucifix  is  perfectly  constructed."  — 
New  York  Commercial  AdTcrtiscr. 

MARION   DARGHE. 

"  Full  enough  of  incident  to  have  furnished  material  for  three  or  four 
stories.  ...  A  most  interesting  and  engrossing  book.  Every  page  unfolds 
new  possibilities,  and  the  incidents  multiply  rapidly."  —  Detroit  Free  Press, 

"  We  are  disposed  to  rank  Marion  Darchc  as  the  best  of  Mr.  Crawford's 
American  stories."  —  The  Literary  World. 


THE  NOVEL:  What  It  Is. 

18mo.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

"  When  a  master  of  his  craft  speaks,  the  public  may  well  listen  with  care 
ful  attention,  and  since  no  fiction-writer  of  the  day  enjoys  in  this  country  a 
broader  or  more  enlightened  popularity  than  Marion  Crawford,  his  explana 
tion  of  The  Novel :  What  It  Is,  will  be  received  with  flattering  interest.' 
—  The  Boston  Beacon. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW   YORK. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


... 


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General  Library 

University  of  California 

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